


with your broken heart in tow

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Light Angst, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It could easily have been the worst night of <i>her</i> life. It most definitely would have been the loneliest night of <i>his</i> life.</p><p>Two lost souls collide on prom night, and two lives are changed forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. with your broken heart in tow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the _3rd Annual Summer Survival Series - Smutfest 2_ challenge at Nine Lives.

where do you go with your broken heart in tow?  
what do you do with the left over you?  
and how do you know, when to let go?  
where does the good go?

 

_where does the good go_ , tegan and sara

 

Under the many layers of her dress, Carols feels as if she's suffocating. Sweat pearls along the slope of her neck under the thick curls of her hair, stray strands sticking insistently to her skin.

 

She sighs, feeling the mild breeze against the slowly drying tear trails down her cheeks. There is no comfort to it - in the unbearable heat, not even the wind seems strong enough to cool her down. The salty trails tickle unpleasantly, and her free hand reaches up to rub the irritated skin.

 

From the fingers of her other hand, her shoes still dangle. The soles of her bare feet ache from the strenuous walk, having long grown numb to the heat of the asphalt she is walking on.

 

The road stretches on before her, seemingly endless. It is framed by vast fields, rolling in gentle waves, the sunlight bathing them in a golden hue. Carol finds no beauty in any of it now, instead fixing her gaze on the chipped yellow paint on the road.

 

How many times has she imagined this? Finally being free. Countless times over the past two years. Tending to every cut and bruise, hiding away each tear and perfecting her smiles. She never expected to feel as sad as she does. It is an odd loss, a void that has suddenly opened, aching to be filled. It is not him she mourns, Carol tells herself, her sigh fading into the open sky, perfectly pale and blue. What she truly spills tears over is the loss of precious time, time she wasted being afraid and timid and withering away like a flower in the frost of winter. A quiet death, long in the making, but invisible until the very last moment.

 

The relief she always imagined is yet to flood her veins, and it stirs anger to be this shaken and weighed down when truly, she finally has the chance to spread her wings and fly.

 

Soft, delicate fabric whispers along her bare legs, the hem kissing the dusty road. What a sorry sight she must make. The rich midnight blue of her dress has turned into an ashen gray at the bottom, the blusher on her cheeks riddled by tear trails, the once silky curls of her hair now frizzy from sweat and humidity, and the lipstick that tinted her lips in a pink that carried the tender promise of spring even in the blistering heat of summer is now faded and smudged. The nearly translucent skin of her left wrist is beginning to darken, the angry red slowly turning into a familiar and ugly shade of blue. Fingerprints left behind as a parting gift.

 

Her heart beats angrily in her chest, exhaustion beginning to slow her steps. Home is still so far away, the distance seemingly impossible to breach. With another sigh, Carol pushes forward, tip toeing around a small pool of crusted blood on the street. Roadkill. The stench of rotting flesh penetrates her nose and she cringes, turning her watery eyes away from the pieces of torn flesh, speckled with brown fur, flies buzzing around the carnage.

 

Behind her, a roaring sound begins to roll closer, reminiscent of a thunderstorm miles and miles away. The echo vibrates through the clear air, breaking the silence that has fallen upon the world. Carol ignores the sound as it approaches, growing louder. It must be a motorcycle, she wonders, fingertips fidgeting nervously against the heel of her shoes.

 

The closer the sound grows, the quieter it seems to become, and a flash of fear shoots through Carol, tensing her shoulders and quickening her steps. It was a stupid idea to storm out of the house and not call for anyone to pick her up, to walk home alone at the brink of dusk without even calling her parents to let them know she was on the way back home. Knowing her luck, some creep has spotted her now, a mile away from the nearest house.

 

Her fear is confirmed when a motorcycle comes to a halt just behind her, tires scratching across the road for a second. She keeps walking, curling her fingers tightly around her shoe - a heel must make a better weapon than her fists, wrists aching and tender.

 

_Carol?_ The sound of her name stops her in her tracks. It's a voice she does not immediately recognize, a little husky and rough, but there is a soft tone to the largely unspoken question. She turns her head curiously, her fingers' choke hold around her shoe easing when she sees who the voice belongs to. _Y'alright?_

 

_Oh._ She turns fully then, suddenly feeling a little silly for marching away so stubbornly before. _Hi, Daryl._ Her best effort at a smile fails, lips pressed into a fine line that barely lifts the corners of her mouth. _I'm fine_ , she reassures him nonetheless, but she does not miss the furrow of his brows. He is perched on the black bike with what, to her, looks like ease. A helmet is propped in his lap, and judging by the spiky mess of his hair, he must have taken it off just now to talk to her.

 

_Why y'out here?_ he asks, pointing his chin at the empty road ahead of them.

 

Uncertainty washes over her, and she can't quite find the right words to reply. _Walking home_ , she eventually offers him, self-consciously rubbing her cheek, suddenly all too aware that she can not hide the tears that flowed so freely earlier. _Long story._

 

Daryl nods, and she's grateful that he apparently doesn't feel the urge to press her for a more detailed answer. After all, they barely know each other. The silence she has welcomed before suddenly fills with awkwardness. Carol's arms wrap around herself, the embroidery of her dress scratchy against her bare skin. Daryl's eyes flicker down at the movement, and she tenses when he takes her in, bare feet peeking out from beneath her dress, all the way up until he meets her gaze. Even from this distance, she notices the blush creeping into his cheeks, knowing he's been caught.

 

_Probably ain't the best idea_ , he says then, looking down at the patched up knee of his jeans. _Want a ride?_ He doesn’t meet her eyes for a good half minute, and it gives Carol enough time to consider his offer. If any of her friends saw her on the back of Daryl Dixon's bike, she'd have more explaining to do than ever before - and she has mastered the craft of white lies and building fragile excuses to explain away bruises, cuts and tears. Then again, the sunlight will not last forever, and she has no desire to walk down this deserted road in the dark.

 

To her friends and family, climbing onto his bike might as well be the equivalent of getting into a stranger's white van, even though Daryl has never in his life given anyone a reason to mistrust and judge him as much as the entire town does. Nothing, except his last name.

 

Everybody in town has their own strong-minded opinion on the Dixons, especially Will, Daryl's violent and unpleasant father, and Merle, his older brother, foul-mouthed and crude. Labeling Daryl as the same seems like the most natural conclusion to most, and it nags Carol. Unlike his brother, Daryl has made it to graduation, no matter how quiet he is in class. For years, she has watched him lurk in the back row, hiding behind worn books. He never talked much except for the occasional attempt of a teacher to get him to participate in class – and how often did he surprise everybody with an actual insightful answer to the dull questions? - or when someone shot him a rude remark in the hallway. She has heard him blurt out more than one creative curse, has seen him raise his fists but never unleash his anger. 

 

He is all alone, she realizes with a pang of sadness, and she pushes the thought away now. It makes her nervous, the shyness that radiates off him now, and the uncertainty that blurs her thoughts. And so does the clarity of the daylight that highlights her tears. After all, the last time Daryl offered her a ride had been in the dead of night.

 

Shifting memories of that night aid her thoughts in falling into place like a puzzle, and her next words pass her lips without hesitation.

 

_Thanks_ , she mutters finally, nodding slowly. For a second, Daryl seems to be taken aback by her reaction, but then he moves quickly, shuffling on the bike to make enough room for her on the seat. She crosses the small distance quickly. _Let me just put these back on._ She fumbles with her shoes for a second, balancing herself against the bike as she slips them back onto her aching feet. Dirt and miniscule pebbles dig into the soles of her feet, the straps of the sandals cutting into overheated flesh. She swallows the pain silently, fingers digging into the leather seat as she straightens herself.

 

She eyes the bike nervously, her fingers curling into the smooth skirt of her dress. The hint of a thrill bubbles in her blood, a daring side of her slowly awakening, opening heavy lids and stretching tired limbs.

 

Gathering her dress in her hands, Carol swings her legs over the seat, the heat of the leather effortlessly burning through the thin fabric.

 

_Don't get it tangled_ , Daryl says, pointing at the hem of her dress that flutters halfway down her shin, tickling her skin. Nodding, Carol slides the skirt further up her legs, tucking the pile of blue fabric deftly into her lap. It takes a second before she realizes that her legs are now exposed up to the middle of her thighs, pale flesh pressing into the outsides of Daryl's legs.

 

He stiffens slightly in front of her, clearing his throat.

 

_What happened to your truck?_ Carol asks on a shaky exhale, eager to distract the both of them from the rather unexpected amount of exposed skin. Her fingers curl around his upper arms to balance herself as she props her feet onto the bike. His leather jacket has soaked up the sun's heat, offering no comfort for her own skin.

 

_Ain't my truck_ , Daryl replies, shifting a little to turn his torso enough to face her. It brings him closer to her than either of them expected, and for the breadth of a second, Carol studies the vast blue sky that opens in his eyes.

 

_Oh_ , she murmurs, distracted by the shine in his hair and the unexpected delicacy of his features. There's nothing rough about him this close. _Your dad's?_

 

He nods, eyes flickering down to her lips briefly. Carol's heart begins to pick up speed, confused and overwhelmed, and suddenly the heat of the sun is pathetic compared to the flush that spreads across the planes of her body.

 

Daryl seems to suddenly realize just how close they are. _Take this_ , he says with a slightly hoarse voice, offering her the helmet, avoiding her eyes.

 

_It's okay_ , Carol replies, waving her hand dismissively. But Daryl apparently is more stubborn than she thought, pushing the helmet into the pile of blue skirt in her lap.

 

_Nah._ He shakes his head, gathering enough courage to look at her again. Carol can't say the same thing for herself, her gaze flickering between his vast eyes and the white wings stitched onto the back of his leather vest. From this angle, she can only see one, weathered and scrapped and in need of a decent wash. _Ain't got a spare_ , he continues, offering her something between an unsteady smile and a nervous purse of his lips. _Take it._

 

_What about you?_ Her fingers slide down the length of his arms - an unnecessary move, she realizes when he shudders a little. They are so close, she can feel it throughout her entire body, and the distance between them only seems to shrink as the awkward tension reaches heights that surpass the sky.

 

_Gonna go slow_ , he replies, watching carefully as Carol squeezes the helmet onto her head. It's heavier than she expected, and immediately, more sweat begins to pour from her skin. Two minutes of this and her hair will be plastered to the back of her head, she's sure of that. Nodding approvingly, Daryl turns away from her, broad shoulder robbing her view of the road.

 

The engine roars to life unexpectedly, and as her heart leaps a little, Carol's hands dig into Daryl's arms again. The vibrations of the machine hum throughout her body, once more igniting the thrill she felt earlier. It races through her veins as the bike begins to move, like red flares inside of her, keeping her on edge.

 

As the tires skitter slightly along the dusty road, Carol braces herself. This is her first time on a motorcycle, and she is surprised that fear is almost entirely absent in this moment.

 

The wind begins to lap at her exposed arms as they drive down the lonely road, cooling her overheated skin, and only now does she grant herself the small pleasure of taking in the roaming fields dancing beneath the glowing sun. Perhaps this is what she needs. To take a small risk, to dare something, to hold on to her new-found bravery and make use of every last shimmering drop of it before it dries up again.

 

It seems strange that the sensation of freedom sets in now on the back of Daryl Dixon's bike. But there is no denying the exhilarating rush it causes. Invisible chains hold her captive no longer, wings bursting free from between her ribs, whiter and purer than the ones adorning Daryl's back. Brand new and untouched, pearly feathers that reach up towards the sky.

 

The urge for Daryl to go just a little faster is seductive in nature; she is lost in the thrum of the engine and the smooth texture of leather beneath her fingers, rough denim coarse again the smooth insides of her thighs.

 

Against her better judgment, Carol wishes she had not accepted the helmet. Vividly, she can imagine the wind running through her hair, causing her untamed curls to dance uninhibitedly.

 

The world expands before her, all its width and wonder on her doorstep, so very close that she is sure she could touch it if she reached out right now. For the past two years, she was locked in a cage, trimmed golden and seemingly inviting. Silk tied around her wrists to keep her in place, turning into barbed wire with every passing day. Quietly she endured her fate, watching the horizon and all promises for a brighter future drift further and further away.

 

Tonight, she broke her silence. Like a dying swan she parted her lips and bled words that cut like knives and were so long overdue. Unlike the swan, she still breathes. She made it out. She is alive.

 

In the distance, the first few scattered houses come into view, run down and in desperate need of fixing. Their facades slowly crumble, paint chipping away, roofs vulnerable. Inside, however, soft light glows, promising a hearty home as the sky slowly turns into the softest and most delicate shade of a rosy pink.

 

As they approach town, a nagging thought begins to distract Carol. This bike is a lot louder than a car, and she is in no mood to explain to her parents why Daryl Dixon of all people is dropping her off on prom night. Or why she is home so early in the first place. God, she already feels suffocated by the avalanche of questions she will have to endure in the coming days, and her mind aches and moans trying to decide whether or not the truth is the best course of action.

 

What she truly wants is to leave the past behind. Lock all the bad memories away. There's little fight left in her that would survive the ordeal of telling the truth, of defending herself against all disbelief and accusations that might be thrown at her. She'd be painted as everything but the victim.

 

She sighs, inaudible over the rumbling of the bike and the hiss of the wind. Is she ready to face the aftermath of her bravery? Not quite.

 

Her fingers tap on Daryl's shoulder before her idea has fully formed in her mind, rapping urgently against the leather. _Stop the bike_ , she shouts, hoping he can make out the words that are muffled by the helmet.

 

Daryl seems to understand the general idea, at least, slowing the bike down considerably and steering it gently over to the side of the road.

 

As soon as it stops, Carol allows her feet to drop down onto the asphalt, balancing herself. It allows her enough stability to let go of Daryl’s arms and pull the helmet off her head.

 

_You gotta fuckin' puke or what?_ Daryl asks urgently as she wiggles herself out of the confines, hair smothered against her forehead, a stray strand glued to her lips.

 

Carol takes in a deep breath when she finally holds the helmet in her hands, balancing it carefully in her lap. Daryl has turned enough for her to see his face, but this time he is keeping a little more distance between them, leaning his torso towards the bike's front at an awkward angle.

 

_I don't want to go home_ , Carol exhales, brushing her hair away from her mouth. Daryl frowns, looking mildly annoyed. _Are you hungry?_ Carol continues, not quite sure why she is even acting on this fleeting and frankly stupid idea. But the words blurt from her mouth with nothing to hold them back. _There's a place a couple miles down Quarry Lane, they make the best waffles. Have you ever been there?_

 

With every syllable that stumbles from her lips, Daryl's initial annoyance gives way for utter confusion. Carol is sure she could have asked him to marry her and he'd look about as baffled as he does now.

 

_My treat_ , she adds with a smile that finally feels true. _As a thank you._

 

_Y'ain't gotta buy me food for drivin' ya home._ Daryl sounds sincere, and he looks at her with insistence. Carol tries to explain away the hint of anger that seems to quiver beneath his surface constantly. But when she comes up empty, the smile falls from her face.

 

Disappointment weighs heavily in the pit of her stomach. _Sorry_ , she sighs, looking down at her lap. Her dress is still tucked securely between her thighs, squished now by the heavy helmet. _Just a weird night, it's okay. You probably have plans._

 

She feels silly now for inviting him at all. It's probably for the best that he is keeping a clear head here. Still, Carol can not help the twinge of sadness that haunts her, and she is not quite sure where it came from.

 

This, getting on his bike and asking him out for dinner, is remnant of a familiar and yet long dormant side of her. It is something the old Carol likely would have been brazen enough to do, just to see him blush and maybe conjure a smile onto his grim face. That girl would have taken a risk without caring a dime for anyone's opinion. In the past few years, however, that side of her, bold and courageous and eager, shrunk and dulled into a meek and wilting flower.

 

For weeks now, it has begun to bloom again, unfolding towards the sun. Even in the midst of her disappointment, Carol is glad for this discovery, to know that what has happened to her has not erased the person she used to be.

 

_Nah._ Daryl suddenly breaks the tense silence, dragging her from her thoughts. _Let's go._

 

Carol looks up with wide eyes, and feels her stomach doing somersaults when Daryl gives her a tight-lipped smile and an awkward one-shouldered shrug. _Really?_

 

Daryl nods, throat bopping as he swallows deftly. _'m hungry as fuck._

 

That settles it, and when Carol beams brightly at him, some of Daryl's resistance begins to crumble, revealing a blush beneath scruffy cheeks and a tender, shy nervousness in his blue eyes that has Carol soaring.

 

No. Nothing rough about him at all.

 

* * *

To say Daryl looks out of place in the quirky diner just off Quarry Lane is an understatement. Like a fly on a white leather couch he stands there in the midst of pastel colored plush chairs in all shades of blue, green, pink and yellow, candles flickering on the round white tables, flowers strung like garlands along the white washed brick that covers the walls.

 

One glimpse at his face nearly has Carol tumbling over with laughter, but she keeps it contained. With a grin, she walks past him, briefly tugging at his sleeve. Wordlessly, he follows as she heads towards the back of the room. It's not a crowded evening, and yet there is a pull to seclusion, and they both gravitate towards a table half hidden behind a potted plant, a string of fairy lights draped across the leafs and branches.

 

_Hell's all this crap?_ Daryl mutters as he plops down onto a plush baby blue chair, huffing and waving a hand around in a circle. She only chuckles in response, pulling a yellow chair back carefully. Gathering the skirt of her dress, she sits down, smoothing it out as it falls lazily onto the ground.

 

Music hums from a speaker above their heads, a mellow tune she does not recognize. Her heels click against the worn wooden floor as she taps along to the rhythm, watching as Daryl shrugs out of his leather jacket and vest. As he throws both unceremoniously onto the third chair, Carol takes in the tanned skin stretched tautly over his strong arms, exposed by the sleeveless brown button-down shirt he is wearing. A fine sheen of sweat covers him from the heat he must endure under the protective leather, causing his skin to shimmer in the dim light.

 

_Hi, guys._ One of the waitresses appears out of nowhere, the chirpy sound of her voice tearing Carol's eyes away from Daryl. _I'm Olivia. What can I do for you?_ Her honest smile lights up her kind face, framed by bold glasses. Daryl shuffles in his seat, thumbing the menu in front of him without reading it at all.

 

_What's good here, then?_ he asks quietly, almost accusingly. After all, she dragged him here.

 

_You have to try the chocolate waffles with butter_ , Carol replies, pointing at a picture printed on the menu. Daryl does not look particularly convinced, eyebrows furrowed. _Trust me._

 

After a short moment, Daryl shrugs, shoving the menu away. _'kay._

 

Olivia nods, scribbling down on her notepad before looking at Carol expectantly. She is kind enough not to eye them too much, Carol notices. They must make an odd pair. Daryl in his dirty pants and harsh leather with a scowl permanently etched onto his face, and herself in the expensive floor-length dress, covered in dust.

 

_I'll take the cookie dough waffles, please_ , she says, mouth watering at the distant memory of the heavenly taste. _With a scoop of vanilla ice cream._

 

_Sure,_ Olivia confirms, shifting her weight onto her left foot, clad with a pink ballerina flat. She fits right into this place with her hair in a braid along the crown of her head, the lilac flowers embroidered on her blouse and the rose stud earrings adorning her face. Daryl sinks further into his chair, shaking his head almost comically.

 

_Actually, could you make that three scoops?_ Carol adds, tapping her fingers against the surface of the table. She can not even remember the last time she had ice cream melting on her tongue. In the back of her head, a threatening voice would always linger, holding her back. Yelling at her, telling her she'd be even uglier with a few extra pounds shaping her body.

 

She pushes those thoughts away now.

 

_Would you guys like anything to drink?_

 

_Nah, I'm good_ , Daryl replies immediately, scratching his chin nervously.

 

_Are you sure?_ Carol asks, having a faint suspicion that he wants to bolt out of here as soon as he can, and that her offer to pay for all this might be faced with resistance soon. It is an act of gratitude he deserves for all his kindness, and Carol promises herself not to give in.

 

_Hmm_ , he mutters, running his finger along the gold-trimmed vase between them, holding a single white flower.

 

_I'll take a milkshake_ , Carol says, contemplating her choice. Daryl's uncomfortable expression distracts her, the way his eyes are downcast and his shoulders hunched. _Strawberry._

 

With one last smile, Olivia walks away, leaving them in their lonely corner.

 

_You starvin'?_ Daryl asks, raising his eyebrows. It's something at least, Carol thinks, shrugging her shoulders.

 

_Just in the mood._

 

After that, they fall into an awkward silence, and once again Carol can not suppress the hint of doubt that maybe this was a terrible idea. The music is a little too chipper, almost mocking them as they sit there, out of place and with seemingly nothing in common. She is faced with a choice. Endure this, or make the most of it. A challenge flickers on the horizon as she remembers Daryl's shy smile, and to see that again would surely make up for all the efforts he isn't making right now.

 

_That's the second time you've rescued me this year,_ she says quietly, propping her elbows onto the table and resting her chin in the cradle of her palms.

 

Daryl looks up at her fragile words, clearly surprised she brought this up at all. After all these months, perhaps he thinks she has forgotten. _Thought we ain't ever talkin 'bout that again_ , he mumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest, tucking his hands into his armpits. It's not a big move, but enough to highlight the anger that carves lines into his young skin, and darkens the blue of his eyes. _That's what ya said._

 

_To other people_ , Carol clarifies, suddenly feeling restless at the thought that he misunderstood this all these months. _I didn't mean we can't ever talk to each other again._

 

_Ya sure as hell never tried talkin' ta me after._ He keeps his voice quiet, but there is no denying the anger that tints each word as he narrows his eyes. Carol can't help but be taken aback by his strong reaction, never once having considered he might be upset about this. After all, they never spoke a single word before that night.

 

_Daryl-_ , she begins, helpless to keep the desperate flutter out of her voice. But before she can explain herself, Daryl interrupts her.

 

_S'alright. I get it_ , he huffs in defeat, uncrossing his arms. Carol catches a glimpse of a tattoo on the inside of his upper arm, but she can not quite make out the shape or meaning behind the dark ink. A haunting suspicion plagues her, the idea that Daryl assumes she is just like everyone else. That she stayed away from him after that night because he's the town drunk's son and his brother is keeping the small police department employed. It could not be further from the truth, and she feels wrongly accused and misjudged, almost insulted at the idea.

 

_No, I don't think you do_ , she insists, voice a little sharper. Daryl blinks a little nervously, narrowing his eyes.

 

_I ain't stupid_. His voice is just above a whisper, hoarse and lined with a genuine concern that crawls beneath Carol's skin. _I get it._ When he points his fingers towards her hands, her stomach sinks. Glimpsing down, she does not miss the faint tint of blue that begins to stain her pale skin. Her eyes drill into Daryl’s then, and he holds her gaze, a hint of rage simmering beneath a new layer of compassion and understanding that has her shrinking in her seat.

 

Can he really understand why she ignored him after everything he did for her? Perhaps he has not misjudged her at all and it is simply her own mind explaining away his unexpectedly intense reaction. She never could have talked to him after, not without the glass house of secrets crumbling into dust.

 

Now, she is sitting in the ruins of it, anyway. She makes no move to curl her fingers around her wrists or drape her hands safely into her lap. Daryl's gaze does not flicker down towards them again, eyes fixed on hers for a good long while.

 

 

 

_Do you like them?_ It is a redundant question considering just how quickly Daryl is inhaling the small stack of rich brown waffles in front of him, butter melting on top. A few crumbs remain scattered at the corner of his mouth, and Carol fights against the itching in her fingers to reach across the table and wipe them away.

 

_Best damn waffles I've ever had_ , Daryl declares through a mouthful of dough, and Carol smiles fondly, sliding a cold spoon of ice cream past her lips as a strange yearning warms her chest.

 

_Good._ They eat in silence for a few minutes, disturbed only by the constant hum of the music, the distant chatter of the other customers, and the comforting clatter of cutlery. _So, you weren't going to prom?_ Carol asks as she puts down her milkshake, fingers numb from holding the cold glass.

 

_Hell no._ Daryl looks up, swallowing the last bite of his waffles, wiping the back of his hand over his lips.

 

_No date?_ She makes no effort to hide the sly grin, and Daryl is not very subtle about pretending not to notice, clearing his throat. He pushes the empty plate away, leaning back into the comfortable chair.

 

_Don't care 'bout that shit_ , he states plainly, the words accompanied by a shrug. She can feel his eyes on her then, and waits patiently for whatever words are lingering on the tip of his tongue. _How 'bout ya? You ain't goin' with ya boyfriend?_

 

A shiver runs down Carol's spine in small tremors, each carrying a memory that demands to be forgotten and replaced. Up until now, she wasn't sure if the subject would arise. After all, Daryl opted out of asking her any more questions than necessary out on the road, offering help without putting his finger into the so obvious wounds she carries.

 

_I broke up with Ed earlier_ , she sighs, putting down her fork, her immense appetite slowly dwindling. Daryl's eyes widen slightly, an involuntary move, she guesses when he quickly regains his composure. Still, a hint of surprise remains long after the shock has softened. _Don't want to talk about it._

 

The memories of it are still sharp and vivid. Her parents dropping her off at Ed's house, eyes brimming with tears of pride and yet blind to the truth. His mother smiling kindly, complimenting her, fawning over her, doting on her. Ed looking sharp in his suit, reminiscent for just a minute of the Prince Charming she's always been fooled into believing she needed to be happy. The way he eyed her with disdain once his mother left them alone, telling her that she showed too much skin, and yet that even his late grandmother would never have worn anything as mousy as this. His hands ruffling through her hair, chastising her for not even making the effort to pin it up the way he liked. Grunting how plain she looked, and what everybody else would think if he showed up with her by his side.

 

None of it had been the worst he's ever said or done, but in that moment, the last drop fell and the dam finally burst. In the end, it was easier than she ever expected, telling him the truth in bold and plain words, snarling her goodbye in his dumfounded face.

 

Then, the familiar anger broke free, and when his hands curled around her wrists to hold her in place, tears prickled in her eyes. She twisted in his grasp, squirming to get away, and just as he raised his hand, she finally screamed. The sound, shrill and piercing and utterly terrifying, sent his mother straight into his room, and Carol now only remembers running past the confused woman, muttering teary apologies before bursting out the front door and heading down the winding road towards home.

 

_Alright._ The sound of Daryl’s voice brings her back into the present. He is eying her with concern, confirming her fear that she drifted off to that dark place her thoughts took her, eyes glazed and distant. She nods gratefully, not able to bring herself to smile. With a sigh, she looks down at her half-eaten waffles, the ice cream now a gooey mess. _That milkshake any good?_

 

 

 

_It's strange, isn't it?_ Carol wonders out loud, watching as Daryl slurps up the last of her milkshake with an obscene sound that seems all too loud in the quiet place. _Being done with school._

 

_Yeah, I guess_ , Daryl replies, flicking his finger against the straw in the empty glass, small chunks of strawberry still stuck in the white plastic tube.

 

_Where are you going to go?_ She is genuinely curious, taking in the sight of him as she tries to solve the puzzle of what there is in this world for Daryl Dixon and where his place might be.

 

His eyes remain downcast when he replies, still worrying the straw nervously. _Gonna stay here. Got a job at Dale's garage._ The small pause promises more, and Carol waits with baited breath, suddenly enthralled by his hesitation. _But one day, I'm gettin' outta this shithole._

 

He must be so eager to leave, much more than he is letting on. Ultimately, this town can not hold many happy memories for him. Only judgment. He is an outcast, and no matter how hard he tries, he'll most likely never fit in. All his anger slowly begins to make sense. It is not born from how he was raised and the company he keeps. It is the result of years of being kept out, overlooked or frowned up.

 

_How 'bout ya?_ He sounds a little timid, and the question is wooden. It's sweet of him to ask, though, to make an effort to keep up the conversation. But the simple question has her stomach revolting and her nerves fluttering with fear.

 

_I don't know._ She exhales heavily, molding herself into the chair as her shoulders slack. As exhilarating the promise of the future is, it is equally as terrifying. To a degree, Carol guesses that's normal. After all, they are sitting here at the crossroads, adulthood ahead of them with all its ups and downs.

 

She can only compare herself to a derailed train now, wandering off the tracks with no destination in sight. Earlier, she flung her engagement ring into a ditch by the road, silently bidding farewell to that part of her past and the possibility of that future – just before Daryl found her. That would have been her life, silently enduring her fate as Ed's wife. Cooking his dinner, granting his wishes, slowly fading away until one day, she simply would have disappeared.

 

The ring was a chain, a daily reminder of the ideals she once had and the confines those fickle wishes led her into. All those plans for the wedding, they all have evaporated now, and she happily inhales the smoke they left behind. Still, as it settles, it leaves behind the question of what she will do next. Where she will take her life now that she has wasted precious years, has tainted her heart. She has not applied for a single college, and now the freedom that she has hungered for leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

 

 

 

_Never?_ Carol's eyes widen in disbelief and the word passes her lips a little louder than intended. She nearly drops her fork, only now realizing she was poking absentmindedly at the soppy remains of her dinner.

 

Daryl squirms a little in his seat, shrugging his shoulders lazily as he watches a guy about their age walk past them towards the restrooms. He's wearing a woolen hat, looking out of place as much as them, and casts a brief glance at them before disappearing upstairs.

 

_But why?_ It seems utterly impossible and ridiculous, and she can not fathom any kind of answer that could justify his confession. Daryl sighs, crossing his arms again defiantly.

 

_Too many people_ , he mutters, kicking his boot against the table's leg in rhythm to the upbeat song trickling from the speaker in shiny, crystal clear sounds. The glass of water that Olivia has brought over stirs, small ripples dancing across the water's surface from the impact.

 

Carol raises her eyebrows. _It's dark_ , she states, sensing that there's more to this than Daryl is willing to admit.

 

_Whatever_ , he huffs, voice gruff and annoyed. _Ain't nobody ta go with, anyway. Merle, my brother, he wanted ta take me a couple times, but he wasn't allowed in no more._ An unfamiliar shadow flickers across Daryl’s face, and a pang of guilt hits Carol for bringing this up at all.

 

_Sorry_ , she says quietly, trying to understand what it must be like to have a brother like Merle Dixon. Someone who is your own flesh and blood, whom you must love, and yet who drags you down and casts a vast, all-encircling shadow over your life. She never felt obligated to love Ed. After a while, it simply became a habit.

 

_Ain't gotta apologize for his drunk ass._ He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. They have been here for a good long while now, and Carol can sense that he is starting to become restless.

 

She finally drops her fork, abandoning the carnage on her plate once and for all. _I can't believe you've never been to the cinema before._

 

_Don't think I missed much. Can just watch a movie on TV._ His words, spoken plainly and without even the slightest hint of irony, cause a bubble of laughter to break from Carol's chest, and his eyes are fixed on her as she allows it to ripple through her body.

 

_It's not the same, Daryl,_ she explains, shaking her head slowly. Clueless, Daryl stares ahead, and suddenly, she basks in the warmth of a new idea flickering to life. _You know what, we're going now. It'll be nearly empty, everyone is at prom._

 

She is already fishing through her small bag for her wallet, pushing her chair away from the table when Daryl finally seems to catch up with what she said. _Ya serious?_

 

_Well, did you have any other plans?_ Looking up from the dollar bills in her hand, Carol is pleased to see him reluctantly shake his head. _See. Why not?_ she asks with a smile, a rhetorical question, and still Daryl feels the need to reply as she waves at Olivia behind the counter.

 

_'Cause..._ he mumbles, visibly fumbling for an answer. _Hell, I don't know._

 

The scratching of her chair against the floor is chill inducing, but Carol ignores the slight shivers, raising onto her feet. Daryl remains immobile, looking up at her with an expression caught between confusion and admiration, and it stirs a fire inside of her unlike any she has ever known. _You can pick the movie. I pick the snacks._

 

* * *

 

_The fuck's she runnin' up them stairs for?_ Daryl sounds personally offended by the blonde woman bolting up the winding stair case, her silver robe exposing more than a little too much pale skin. He's free to voice his opinion, considering they are the only people in the dark theater, and his running commentary on the stupidity of the characters and plot is an enlightenment that has Carol grinning in the dark like a fool. _Ain't like her friend just got butchered._

 

_I hate these movies_ , Carol sighs, sinking a little further into the red velvet seat, watching as the woman wipes away fake tears. Daryl slurps on his soda, and from her peripheral, she can see him shaking his head at the screen.

 

He talked more in the last thirty minutes than he has in the entire hour at the diner and all their shared years of class combined. Carol has an inkling that he hasn't talked this much in one sitting in his entire life, but the last thing she will do is bring that up and break the spell. It's too sweet to listen to his rant and crude remarks, completely unfiltered and such a refreshing change from everything she is used to. Daryl is honest, and he does not mask anything – except for himself. Now, in the relative safety of the dark theater, his shell begins to crumble slowly, small cases breaking off and revealing the young man hidden underneath, full of potential and wit and, she is sure of it, affection. 

 

_Yeah, should've watched that zombie one,_ he admits, causing Carol to chuckle victoriously, a triumphant grin tugging at the corners of her lips that he can not even see in the darkness.

 

_I told you that wou-_ Carol has just reached out to poke a finger against his bare forearm, propped against the armrest, when the woman's scream and a pang of jarring music cause her heart to skip a beat. _God!_ she yelps, squinting her eyes as the masked man leaps from behind an ornate pillar and the woman meets her grizzly end.

 

By her side, Daryl jumps a little in his seat, muttering a curse under his breath. Then, however, he tenses, and it only takes Carol a second to figure out the reason, her eyes drifting away from the nauseatingly explicit gore on screen down to the armrest that separates their seats.

 

Instead of poking his arm in mockery and response to his admission that she was right in suggesting a different movie, she has curled her hand firmly just above his wrist, fingers digging into his skin as her heart slowly begins to recover from the jump scare. His skin is warm, and smoother than she expected, and even though her throat constricts a little at the unexpected move, Carol can not help but hold on. She does, however, loosen her grip ever so slightly, not wanting him to feel suffocated in her grasp.

 

He says nothing about it, but she does not miss his eyes flickering down before pointedly fixing back on the screen. _Well, she kinda had that comin'_ , he comments, voice quiet now, stripped of all its earlier enthusiasm.

 

_I guess._ She didn't mean for the words to be spoken this softly, and she never expected a shiver to run through Daryl's body, goosebumps raising in an avalanche, rough and sweet beneath her hand. Neither did she expect Daryl to slightly turn his arm, palm facing the ceiling, but it is an unspoken and almost bold offer she finds she can not ignore. With a stuttering heart and her eyes transfixed on the tense line of Daryl’s jaw – the squelching sounds of blood on screen fading into the far, far distance – she trails her fingers down over his wrist, pulse hammering. It is a rapid thrum, comforting in its own unique way, and she almost misses it by the time her fingers feather across a calloused palm, falling into place.

 

 

 

_Not sure which one of 'em idiots deserves ta die the most_ , Daryl muses, voice muffled by the popcorn he is chewing on. He crumples the empty yellow paper bag in his fist, the harsh crinkling the only sound as the couple on screen stares silently at each other in the aftermath of yet another avoidable loss. Carol glances over towards Daryl, amused to see him pondering the trash bunched up between his fingers before he leans forward, disposing of it on the seat in front of them.

 

He has to stretch quite a bit, and the movement makes it all too clear that their hands are still loosely entwined. Carol's chest flutters like a spring breeze tracing along the blossoms of a brand new flower when he squeezes his fingers around her own a little to maintain the touch, to keep his hand from slipping away. Then, he sinks back into his seat with a huff. If he wanted a chance to pull away from her without making it all too obvious and without the sting of rejection, then this was it.

 

The tension in his body still has not quite eased, but the fact that he is still holding on reassures Carol a little. It soothes her fear that he might bolt, and that she may have crossed a delicate line by initiating this. Even to her, it seems a little odd, a little too soon. After all, she only broke up with Ed a few fragile hours ago, and here she is, all alone in an empty, dark theater, her thumb itching to draw lazy circles against the back of Daryl Dixon's hand.

 

Perhaps it is wrong. Hell, it most likely is the last thing she should be doing right now. But her heart flutters whenever Daryl shifts in his seat and his shoulder bumps into hers. Goosebumps erupt on her skin and the dewy hairs at the base of her skull rise whenever he moves his fingers between hers, just barely. Each time he comments on the movie, she surrenders to the urge to smile. Even if this is wrong, she does not care the slightest bit, not when she hasn't felt this light in years. After all, Ed certainly is not deserving of being mourned.

 

_Did you just eat all my popcorn?_ she asks, pursing her lips when Daryl clears his throat.

 

Squirming in his seat, he turns to look at her. Even in the scarce light Carol can make out the blush that spreads from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. _Sorry_ , he mutters, looking down at their joined hands.

 

_You said you didn't like popcorn_ , Carol recalls quietly, looking back at the screen. A woman with pitch black hair has her arm wrapped around the movie's main character, a tall, bulky guy with beach blonde hair and perfectly plugged eyebrows. He rasps a cheesy line into the side of her neck, and Carol begins to anticipate the worst, suddenly all too aware of Daryl’s warm arm pressed into hers, and the pads of his fingers crazing her knuckles with each breath.

 

_Ain't never had popcorn like this before_ , Daryl explains. She waves her free hand, discarding his apology. They sit in silence for a few seconds, but there is no denying what is about to happen, not anymore. Lips meet with an obscene sound on screen, and in a harshly edited montage, buttons fly and zippers are undone, planes of smooth, taut, hairless skin revealed.

 

_They ain't got nothin' better ta do?_ Daryl obviously makes an effort to sound just as plainly annoyed by the movie as he has before, but there is no denying the slightly higher pitch to his voice, or the way he freezes by her side. _Fuckin' lunatic still 'round with his big ass knife and look at them idiots._

 

The woman moans as the man's lips leave a trail down her throat and between her breasts, the metallic clink of a belt echoing off the walls. The air is suddenly thicker than before, almost as if the humidity from outside has crawled its way through the walls. Against her better judgment, Carol curls her fingers a little tighter around Daryl’s just as the woman straddles the man, more bare skin flashing across the screen.

 

_Oh, I'm looking._ Daryl stiffens even more at her words, and between the ominous music and the moaning, she can hear the hitch in his breath. It stirs something deep inside of her, the heady rush of control straightening her shoulders. It feels good to be this bold again, to not hide herself away. _Maybe the other movie had zombie sex._

 

_Stop_ , Daryl mutters, the hint of a smirk audible in his voice.

 

She is about to retort when Daryl's thumb begins to shyly brush along her palm, and she swallows deftly, all words turning to dust in her mouth. He's chaste in his movements, a feather light touch, but there is a purpose behind it that sets her blood on fire, and sends sparks up the length of her spine. His hand slips out of her grasp then, the slightest of whimpers escaping her lips. Carol's eyes widen at the sound, and she begs for the woman's exaggerated moaning to drown it out.

 

Even if Daryl has heard, it does not seem to distract him. Slowly, he moves his hand, fingers brushing along her palm, and then he holds her wrist in a gentle cradle, thumb smoothing along invisible lines. Her pulse jackhammers, and she squirms discreetly in her seat, suddenly struggling to breathe in the confines of her dress.

 

The screen fades to black with one last shot of circling hips and fingers splayed along the smooth curves, and in the darkness, Carol can hear her heart beating in her ears, blood rushing furiously as if a damn broke down.

 

Daryl draws a circle into her wrist, and as the screen lights up again, Carol gazes down, realizing suddenly that it's not invisible lines he was tracing. Instead, he caresses the splatters of blue and red that soil her skin, and suddenly the fire in her blood simmers down to gleaming embers, and tears prickle in her eyes. She blinks them away, jumping when a scream echoes from wall to wall, and the moment is over, her hand falling limply into her lap.

 

 

 

_Still don't get the fuss 'bout cinemas_ , Daryl declares with a shrug, drinking up the last of his soda before dumping the cup into the trash can by the entrance. The glass doors slide open as they approach them, and the cool breeze of the cinema's air conditioning gives way for a wall of humidity that hits them like a freight train.

 

Carol rolls her eyes, trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress. _You should have picked a better movie._

 

He throws her a side-way glance, biting back a grin. Outside, the sun has set, and the streetlights flood the sidewalk in a dim yellow glow. The usually busy street is nearly abandoned, only a few people strolling by with shopping bags in their hands, tired expressions on their faces. The occasional car drives by, a bus that would take her all the way home if she felt the slightest need to stopping just down the road.

 

_Want me ta take ya home?_ Daryl asks, and when she turns to look at him, he is leaning against the glass display of the cinema, a poster of the crappy movie they just endured just behind him. He eyes her up and down, arms crossed in front of his chest. There is a shift, suddenly, the mood between them changing so palpably that Carol struggles to keep up with it.

 

He would take her home in an instant, she knows, if she asked him to. But too much of her is unwilling to let go of the ease that comes with his company, and there is a speckle of hopefulness to his gaze that has her hoping he feels the same.

 

She shakes her head softly, her hair tickling her exposed shoulder. With slow steps, she walks up to him, wrapping her arms around her middle, fingers crazing her own elbows. _Not really._

 

Although she keeps a mindful, safe distance between them, they are standing a little too close for this conversation. She does not miss Daryl’s eyes dipping downwards, following the slope of her dress, the dip of her waist up to the shadows cast by her collarbones. When their gazes meet, she smiles, a brazen move and yet none of that translates into the gesture. It's shy and sweet and her heart stutters in her chest.

 

_Ya folks ain't gonna be worried?_ Daryl asks, voice hoarse and low. He looks across her shoulder as an elderly couple walks by, ice cream cones in their hands.

 

Carol keeps her eyes transfixed on him. The light shadow of a beard, the mess of his hair, the little speckles of yellow light reflected in his eyes. _I texted my mom earlier_ , she explains, taking another step forward. People could see, she wonders for a moment, but the idea only bothers her a miniscule bit, and to hell with that.

 

For a brief moment, Daryl seems to fidget, apparently trying to back away from her, but all that results in is a quiet thud as his shoulders bump against the glass display behind him. It reminds her of an animal trapped in a snare, but instead of moving back and granting him more personal space, she decides to hold on, to see if there is a chance he might relax. He reaches up to bite at the corner of his thumb, accidentally brushing her shoulder as he lifts his arm. _So, what'ya wanna do?_

 

_How about you decide for a change?_ Her eyes sparkle, the rush of a bypassing car sending a faint breeze their way that kisses her unexpectedly overheated skin. _Come on, Daryl_ , she teases with a smile when he looks down at their feet, only a few treacherous inches apart now. _You must have something up your sleeve._

 

The both of them glance at his exposed arms then and simultaneously break out with laughter, all the tension easing as he nods, eagerness beaming in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be an adorable little one shot, and then it exploded into a monster of feels. With neither the time nor the nerves to finish it on time, I (very reluctantly) made the decision to split this into three parts. While that means I can really focus on the rest of this story and give it the time and attention it deserves, it comes with the unfortunate fact that there is no smut in this chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and that I can manage to make up for that in the upcoming part(s).


	2. something's in the air tonight

something's in the air tonight  
the sky's alive with a burning light  
you can mark my words  
something's about to break

 

 _nothing left to lose_ , mat kearney

 

 _It's beautiful here_ , Carol sighs, curling her arms around her legs, knees pressing into the embroidery on her chest. She can feel all the delicate ups and downs of it through the thin fabric of her skirt. Beneath her bare feet, the grass is cool but dry, tickling her aching soles. Tossed to the side, her shoes lay abandoned next to a gathering of yellow and purple wildflowers. Daryl's leather jacket is spread out on the ground beneath her, keeping her dress from getting stained by the grass and earthy dust that covers the lake's shore.

 

 _Found it when I was huntin'_ , Daryl explains. He is leaning back, legs stretched out in front of him. The palms of his hands are pressed into the ground by his side, muscled arms tightly wound and holding him upright.

 

Crickets fill the night with their familiar song, the moonlight glittering on the small lake's still surface - pearls of white light that are undisturbed by the gentle breeze. Framed by richly green trees, the clearing seems more like a slice of paradise than a forgotten niche of the forest, flowers sprouting from the ground in vivid colors without being tamed. Everything is wild and untouched, seeping with the pungent scent of earth and leafs, freedom morphing from an idea into a crystal clear taste on the tip of her tongue.

 

 _You do that a lot?_ Carol asks, allowing her eyes to flutter shut for a moment, breathing in the peace and quiet. Imagining Daryl out here beneath the canopy of trees is easy. This seems natural to him, the wild, the solitude. It fills her with a sense of gratitude knowing that he trusts her enough to share this treasure with her, a particular warmth spreading through her veins that renders the remaining heat of the sun fickle.

 

It is clear to see that he belongs here. There is barely any distance between them, arms hovering so closely to each other that Carol feels her skin tingle every time one of them shifts on the ground. Still, Daryl seems at ease, nothing separating them. They are all alone, and that thought fills Carol with an excitement that flutters through her without abandon.

 

The Daryl who sits beside her now, looking at her in quick and flickering glances, is more complete than any version she has seen of him tonight or in all the years that have preceded it. Nothing distracts him or transforms him, there is no need for masks and walls. It's a raw version of him, genuine, and Carol begins to wonder how many people have truly seen him the way she does now.

 

 _Yeah_ , Daryl mutters into the night, eyes fixed on the moon's reflection on the lake. Full and round it stands, shedding just enough light for Carol to see the miniscule changes in him. The way his face softens and his eyes brighten.

 

Her hopes for an actual conversation begin to dwindle after his short reply, though. There is still more to uncover, in the end. More layers to his mask, invisible and nearly impenetrable after a lifetime of being kept out.

 

 _Are you any good?_ she asks, nudging his shoulder gently with her elbow. That earns her the attention she craved. With a downward flicker, Daryl turns his head. In her eyes, he is confronted with a gleaming curiosity. He never falters, surprisingly, and breathes steadily before replying on a heavy exhale.

 

 _I guess._ It is a tempting thought to ask him to take her hunting one day. She'd probably curse herself after an hour of quietly and stealthily roaming through the woods. But she can not deny the tickle of excitement at the idea of being all alone with Daryl, far away from the bustle of the world, and without the looming shadow of having to go home again soon.

 

She wiggles her toes against the grass, sighing. _I'm glad I didn't go to prom_ , she declares, smiling at Daryl who has since averted his gaze to the small stretch of ground between them. His fingers are inches away from her thigh, her skirt splayed out, feathering against his fingertips. It is as easy as breathing to remember how his hand felt in hers earlier, warm and calloused. Shy.

 

She meant what she said, the words tasting as sweet as honey on her lips. Before tonight, prom only seemed like another row of harrowing hours she'd have to maintain her porcelain mask. Clinging to Ed as he paraded her around. Wearing an empty smile and a heavy dose of melancholy in her heart on the brink of the future.

 

Instead, she now struggles to grasp onto a memory still vivid enough to compare to how at ease she felt tonight, how weightless she carried herself. She comes up empty, years of gray having dulled whatever happy memories she once cherished. Tonight, she made a dozen of brand new memories, all coated in the giddiness of feeling... happy. The word does not come easily, and Carol is terrified of jinxing herself, but there is no alternative that quite matches it.

 

 _I had a really good time_ , she confesses, allowing one of her arms to drop from around her knees. Unceremoniously, it drops onto the soft ground, cushioned by the thick, protective leather of Daryl’s jacket and the layer of fine blue fabric from her dress, competing with the canvas of the night sky. Neither of them pretends that the move was accidental. Daryl swallows, but then his fingertips twitch, drumming a random rhythm against the ground before reaching out for her.

 

At first, his fingertips only brush slightly against the side of her palm, grazing her skin. The small touch alone sends Carol's mind spinning, and she chews on her next words, trapped between wanting to say them and being too afraid to scare him away. _This is better than any prom_ , she finally whispers, turning her hand to expose her palm to Daryl. He hesitates for only a moment, and then he circles his thumb over her lifeline, fingers slipping in between hers. She's not sure he even heard her, no response visible. Instead, he is focused on their joined hands, tan and pale skin a stark contrast in the clear moonlight.

 

 _It's a shame I spent all that money on this dress_ , Carol chuckles lightly, fear making an unwelcome entrance as her fingers trace along the bumps and hollows of Daryl's knuckles. This feels too intimate, her own walls breaking away. Without a single word to try and scrape away at her shell, Daryl has somehow managed to pull her from the depths of her own misery. Maybe he does not even have the slightest clue what he has achieved, the impact of these few hours they have spent together transforming Carol quietly but at a rapid pace.

 

 _Ya lookin' real pretty, though_ , he rasps then, voice hoarse, and it must cost him all his meager confidence to meet her eyes afterward. Affection tightens her chest, tears prickling in her eyes. Unwilling to shed them, she exhales on a weak laughter that barely hides her beaming smile. It does not matter how she looks right now - hair frizzy, make up smudged, skin covered in a sheen of sweat, the soles of her feet soiled with dirt, her dress wrinkled and dusty - and it has never really mattered. But to hear the words from Daryl’s lips is a revelation, one that has her heart soaring.

 

 _That's pretty romantic_ , she quips, pursing her lips. It is so easy to tease him, the blush so rewarding. Still, it is out of her own nervousness that she speaks her next words, tilting her head playfully. _Want to screw around?_

 

For a brief second, Carol wants to slap her hand against her forehead, sink into the ground and bite her tongue for allowing that to slip. Daryl's eyes widen a little with terror, but then he scoffs, a rugged sort of laughter that sounds terribly uneasy. It is sweet in a way, and Carol can no longer contain her own laughter. It bursts from her with the force of a tidal wave held back for too long. Her chest aches, lungs struggling to suck in enough air.

 

Daryl joins in more hesitantly, and eventually, they both surrender and fall silent. Her breathing stutters, tongue darting out to wet her lips, chapped from the brutal sand unforgiving heat. When Daryl's eyes drop to follow the small movement, Carol swallows. Something shifts, the moment too reminiscent of how she felt outside of the cinema. Charged, bold. Only now, they are alone. There are no cars passing by. No people strolling along with tired faces and curious eyes. Nothing.

 

Her fingers tighten around Daryl's, a warning, or perhaps her way of encouraging herself. Beneath all her teasing and newly discovered confidence, she is just as terrified as he looks. It flickers in his hooded eyes when she leans in, ever so slowly.

 

Inch by inch she grants him the chance to move away. When he refuses, the distance slimming so much that his breath is damp against her flushed face, Carol finally gathers the last ounce of courage necessary.

 

Her lips press into his with just the barest amount of pressure. He holds still, fingers digging into the back of her hand, holding on to her. She pulls back after a second, eyes fluttering open as a sigh passes her lips. They are still so very close, his nose accidentally nudging hers as he shifts.

 

 _Is this okay?_ Carol whispers, a pleading quality to her voice that almost embarrasses her. Softly, her thumb drags circles into his hand to reassure him and coax a reply from his still slightly parted lips. She breathes him in, the faint scent of motor oil, popcorn, smoke and sweat. It's earthy and oddly clean, filling her lungs.

 

Waiting, her heat pumps unsteadily in her chest, small stutters that echo in her ears.

 

 _Yeah._ His reply is nothing but a hoarse whisper, voice failing and breaking. It is all the confirmation  she needs, and when she breaches the distance this time, Daryl does not freeze. His lips are pliant beneath hers, moving a little clumsily. They are dry but warm, and nothing has ever felt quite this complete.

 

His hand tightens around hers almost painfully when Carol traces her tongue against Daryl's bottom lip, and her breath hiccups when he opens up eagerly.

 

Pads of calloused fingers find the sensitive skin of her neck, slipping beneath thick curls and pressing into overheated flesh. A shiver runs down Carol’s spine when his thumb nudges her earlobe, a delicate whimper slipping past her lips. It does not go unnoticed, and the kiss turns sloppy when Daryl begins to focus most of his effort on his finger, drawing small circles into the spot just below her ear.

 

A consuming heat begins to flare in the pit of her stomach, muscles clenching painfully there. Tearing her unwilling lips away from his, panting, she leans into the touch. Her free hand moves on its own accord, tracing the length of Daryl’s arm. He sighs against her cheek, breath warm and damp as her curious fingers travel upwards until her arm slings around his shoulder. Pulling herself closer, Carol seeks his lips again, flames liking inside her belly.

 

It feels more urgent now, lips molding into each other, tongues warm and wet, exploring. Daryl grunts into the kiss when her hand slips into the strands of his hair, the vibrations of the sound humming through her body. His hand tightens around her neck, pulling her even closer than before. Easily taking the hint, Carol begins to sift her fingers through his hair, silky and soft, short nails scraping along the base if his skull.

 

 _Carol,_ he groans, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against her cheek. Overheated and flushed skin is pressed close, and she hopes he can feel the smile that tugs at her lips. She does it again, mapping out his skull with the faintest pressure to her touch.

 

Fingers slip from her own then, but before she has the slightest chance to complain, Daryl grabs her waist. A little too eagerly, bordering on the edge of pain. But then his grasp eases swiftly, and his hand fits into the curve so perfectly that Carol finds herself resting in his embrace, no longer holding herself upright.

 

Lips begin to feather along her jawline, at first chaste, the slightest whisper of a kiss. As her breathing picks up speed, Daryl grows more confident, or perhaps only more courageous. It hardly matters, not when he is dragging his lips down the slope of her neck, damp kisses that follow the furious thrumming of her pulse. Her abandoned hand wraps around his shoulder, as well, a splayed palm pressed between his shoulder blades.

 

Her head is swimming, desperately trying to make sense of what is happening and why she is so utterly unwilling to end it. No thoughts are clear. Instead, everything blurs in her mind except for the warm caress of Daryl's lips on her neck, the sound of their mingled strained breathing, the pressure of his hand on her waist, the texture of his hair as it slips between her fingers. Holding on to all of those sensations, her nerves raw and close to breaking down, Carol seeks out his lips once more, sighing into his mouth as tongues and teeth collide messily and without any grace to it.

 

His thumb paints heavy strokes against her stomach through her dress, her skin tightening into goosebumps from her ankles all the way to the crown of her head. With her arms already locked securely around his shoulders, it's no big effort to pull herself up and into his lap. The kiss breaks halfway through, and their eyes finally open, shock and surprise as evident as the heady darkness that colors both pairs now. Daryl swallows deftly as her thighs bracket his, the hand on her neck slipping down the length of her body to join the other around her waist.

 

Flowing layers of fabric have gotten caught awkwardly between them, and with a sigh she can not contain, Carol moves her hand from Daryl’s hair, lingering for a brief moment on his face, feathering her thumb across his cheekbone, tracing his damp lips. Eventually, she reaches down between them, pulling and shifting her weight from one knee to the other until the dress comes free. It pools in Daryl's lap between them, her bare knees now pressing into the ground. She knows the grass will leave imprints there, but she bites back the slight twinge of discomfort, too lost in the moment to care.

 

Time slows down, the air between them thickening as they hold each others gaze. Reasonably, she should say something, anything. Make clear what this is to her, what it can not be. But her mind is still reeling, and now that she is perched on Daryl’s lap, the fire in her belly only grows, numbing her to everything else.

 

Instead of wasting her breath to speak, she closes the small space, lips pressing against Daryl's cheeks. His light scruff is coarse, and he shudders against her when she presses her palms against his chest. Fingertips seek out the small buttons of his shirt, toying with the top one for a second before Daryl pulls away, tensing. _Leave it_ , he mutters, eyes downcast.

 

Carol scans his face for a clue, baffled by the sudden and raw shame that looms in his eyes. Any questions she might have are pushed back, and she smooths her hand up towards his shoulders instead, broad and strong, before framing his face in her hands. With a gentle nudge, she steers his head back up, kissing him quickly before he wilts under her gaze. For a splint second, he is unresponsive, but then she coaxes his mouth open, hums a soft whimper against his lips, and he begins to melt in her arms.

 

This is wrong, a nagging voice keeps repeating the fact in Carol's head over and over as she deepens the kiss. When Daryl’s hands move down towards the swell of her hips, she moans quietly, willing all doubt away. Maybe it _is_ wrong to allow herself to drift like this. This feeling, however, has been dormant for so long. Wanting. Being wanted and cherished. For the first time  in what feels like a lifetime of regret, Carol finally feels worth something again. It is right there in the palm of her hand, shimmering and beaming, and she knows she will hold on to it, no matter what happens after tonight.

 

Whatever this is, she craves more, greed leading her movements as she reaches down, covering Daryl's hands with her own. He takes the hint quickly as she moves them upwards, briefly gathering her dress in his palms as he strokes along her waist. It lazily falls back down once his fingers skim over the intricate embroidery, and only then does he realize where Carol is guiding him. But she's quicker than him, pressing his hands against her breasts with determination. He ends the kiss immediately, wide eyes staring at her in disbelief.

 

A soft smile plays at her lips, her hands abandoning his, curling around his neck instead. She can feel his pulse thrashing violently beneath his skin, and she waits with baited breath, the pressure of his hands alone, immobile, not enough, making her antsy. Then, hesitantly, Daryl applies more pressure. With the fabric and adorning pearls and beads between his hand and her skin, the sensation is dull, but the warmth of his touch has her reeling, her forehead dropping against his shoulder.

 

Daryl mutters a curse under his breath, his thumb swiping along her nipple, hardening beneath her dress instantly. Sparks shoot through her body, and she rocks against him, needing to be closer, trapping his hand between their chests. Daryl stills, and Carol bites back a groan when she realizes why. _Don't stop_ , she sighs, desperate to make him understand that it's okay. Still, Daryl does not move, hands frozen in place. With a shaking inhale, Carol turns her head, pressing her lips against the side of Daryl's throat the same second she moves her hips again. It is nothing but a small circling motion, and yet Daryl seems to snap out of his trance, his own hips bucking up as he bites back a grunt. _Don't stop_ , Carol repeats, leaning her chest into his touch. This time, he heeds to her wish, cupping her breasts more firmly, drawing his thumbs over hardened peaks.

 

She's not sure if he has any clue what he is doing. Fingers fumble without aim, and his hips grind up towards her own in stuttering moves, lacking all rhythm. But it hardly matters, not when he hits just the right spot, not when her bare thighs scratch against the rough denim of his jeans, not when her name slips from his lips in such a ragged pitch that she nearly pulls on his hair to keep herself steady. Ed never had a clue what he was doing, either, but he stopped making an effort a long time ago.

 

Grinding down against him, Carol relishes in the sound of his labored breaths, tastes the salt of his sweat against the side of his neck, nudges her nose against his jawline when he stills for a moment. Then, his hands move away from her breasts, fingers trailing along her neckline and up the delicate short sleeves. He slips his thumb beneath the thin fabric, nudging it to the side, exposing more of her freckled shoulder. Getting out of the dress, even just exposing her shoulders, would be a chore, and Carol suddenly tenses at the thought of being naked. Even in the moonlight, he'd see all of her, every imperfection. There'd be no place to hide, and suddenly her chest tightens, and her hips freeze.

 

Instantly, Daryl senses the change, one hand finding the back of her head, cradling it. Carol sighs, turning to look up at him. _Leave it?_ she whispers, softer than he did and with a sad smile ghosting on her face. Daryl nods, fingers moving from her sleeve to her neck until he can cup her cheek in his palm. He leans down into a kiss that is suddenly less fiery and urgent. Almost too gentle.

 

 _Wanna go home?_ he asks quietly against her lips, a hint of sorrow to his words. Carol wonders for a moment, but deep down, she already knows the answer. She shakes her head ever so slowly, pressing her lips back against his. The faint taste of cigarettes and buttery sweet popcorn is familiar by now, and their lips move less messily and with more delicacy. With a sigh, she grinds her hips down against his again, quivering in Daryl's arms at the sensation. He is hesitant now, not moving much except for his tongue tracing her lips and his hand sifting through the tangled curls of her hair.

 

Greed and desire begin to swell inside of Carol again, and she smooths her hands down Daryl's chest, careful to avoid the buttons this time. His heart thumps nervously in the confines of his ribcage, and she smiles a little into the kiss. Once her hands have reached her own thighs, she gathers the dress, bunching it up in her fists before pulling it up. Breaking the kiss, Daryl looks down, eyes fixed on the planes of pale skin exposed to the moonlight as Carol pushes the dress up around her waist.

 

 _I just broke up with my boyfriend_ , she mutters, the words spilling from her mouth against her will. Her fingers are still clenching into her skirt, holding it against her waist. The stark contrast of her milky skin against Daryl’s dark pants is mesmerizing, and yet not enough to distract her from the impact of her words. Reaching up to pull Daryl’s hand away from her neck, she lets their joined fingers drop against her bare thigh.

 

He swallows, fingers twitching against her smooth skin. _We ain't gotta_ , he rasps, chest heaving with each breath.

 

He is right. They don't. She could pull back now, tell him to drive her home, and forget this ever happened. But his hand is warm and rough against her skin, just above her knee, teasing and promising. No. For once in her life, she will take what she wants when it is offered. She feels wanted, the evidence pressing against her so distractingly that she has to will her hips from moving.

 

When she does not respond, Daryl finally looks up, eyes dark but lined with insecurity. He can not take what he wants, she realizes, heart threatening to burst in her chest. With a gentle shake of her head, she leans forward. _I want to_ , she whispers just before her lips meet his. It is Daryl who closes the distance this time, nearly crushing her against him with too much enthusiasm. His hand moves then, without much guidance, fingers splaying open and smoothing up the inside of her thigh. Sighing into the kiss, Carol rocks against him again, desperate now for the tension that has been coiling inside of her to finally snap. Every nerve ending in her body is raw and eager, hungry.

 

There is too much fabric bunched between them for any finesse, but with each downward grind of her hips, Daryl’s movements become even more sloppy. When his fingers reach the apex of her thighs, thumb brushing ever so slightly along her underwear, Carol breaks the kiss, a sound bubbling from her throat that reminds her of a cry. All her mind can think is more, more, _more_ , and so she grabs his wrist a little too deftly, pushing his hand away just enough so she can reach for his belt. Her fingers tremble as she unbuckles it, Daryl’s lips skimming along her collarbone all too distractingly. Metal clinks in the quiet clearing, and then her fingers pop open the button of his pants, hips grinding down more desperately as she moans.

 

 _Shit_ , Daryl curses as she pulls the zipper down roughly, scraping her knuckles against the teeth, drawing blood. Hissing, she grabs the waistband of his jeans, grinding her teeth.

 

 _I ain't got-_ Daryl mutters against her shoulder, sucking the tender skin between his lips. The pain is sharp, but she relishes in it, momentarily forgetting her goal, head dropping back towards her back. A soft breeze catches the curls of her hair, cool against her sweat-slicked neck. It takes her a moment to catch up with Daryl’s words, his hands curling around her waist now, holding her still above him.

 

 _In my bag_ , she mutters when her brain connects the dots, her own voice foreign to her. She points her chin towards the grass, her small bag forgotten next to her shoes. Daryl presses one more kiss to the hollows of her collarbone before leaning back, his hand slipping from her body to reach for the bag. Impatiently, she swats his hand away. Twisting her torso, she leans forward, stretching her arm until her fingers toy with the thin sling of her bag.

 

All her weight now rests on Daryl’s lap, and the both of them shudder at the same time, his fingers digging deftly into her waist as Carol's breath hitches. Swallowing, she gathers herself, sitting back up and rummaging through her bag. Lipstick, tissues, her phone, jiggling keys, she skims through it all. Daryl waits quietly, thumbs brushing along the curve of her waist until she finally finds what she was looking for.

 

Silently, she is almost a little grateful in this moment that Ed never regarded protection as his responsibility, always expecting her to be prepared whenever he felt like taking what he believed he deserved. Throwing her bag mindlessly onto the ground and casting the unwelcome thought away along with it, Carol holds the small package between her fingers, taking a few calming breaths.

 

 _Y'okay?_ Daryl asks, reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. He cares too much, she realizes, suddenly terrified. Her free hand finds the loose waistline of his jeans then, quickly slipping beneath the thick fabric to shut up her own worries, and to put an end to his unexpected tenderness.

 

 _Fuckin' hell_ , he grunts as she curls her fingers around the base of him, tensing against her. His jaw is tense, eyes shut so tightly that his forehead wrinkles from the exertion. Drawing her lips feather lightly across the angry skin, Carol smooths away the shallow lines, her hand setting a slow rhythm, deft strokes that have Daryl squirming beneath her. She is so far out of her comfort zone, drinking in his every sigh, pressing her lips against his temple as his hips buck further into her touch. Her mouth and lips are dry, cheeks flushed a furious red, and the tension in her belly wails in agony, desperate for release.

 

 _Ya gotta stop_ , Daryl grunts out then, maneuvering one hand between them, buried beneath blue skirts, pleading fingers curling around her wrist. She stops straight away, drawing her head back, her stomach falling a million feet into the abyss.

 

Memories flood her without warning, grim and humiliating. _Sorry, I know I'm no good at this._ Her voice does not break, but it barely exceeds a whispers. Looking down at Daryl’s heaving chest, she sighs, all the adrenaline and euphoria evaporating into gray smoke, the ashen taste of embarrassment nauseatingly clear on her tongue.

 

Then, softly, fingers curl beneath her chin, forcing her to look up. _Why the hell would ya think that?_ Daryl asks, his blue eyes sincere and remarkably kind.

 

Trying to swallow the thick lump in her throat, Carol squirms under the weight of too many bad memories. _Ed never really liked...,_ she begins to explain, every fiber of her being fighting against it, unwilling to verbalize the terrors imprinted in her mind. Daryl seems to sense her fight, brushing his thumb over her parted lips.

 

 _He's wrong._ The determination in his voice arouses hope in her, and the tears she fought to hold back begin to stop dwelling. Still, they brim in her eyes, threatening to spill.

 

 _You liked it?_ she asks, pride sparkling like fireworks in her belly. When Daryl nods, she grins, and the tear that spills and trails down her flushed cheek nearly goes unnoticed. But then Daryl leans in close, touching his lip to her cheek, kissing away the salty teardrop.

 

Nearly lost in the tenderness of the moment, Carol resumes her strokes around him, his grip on her wrist loosening. _Jesus!_ he groans against her cheek, and it is the most gratifying sound Carol can imagine. She locks it away in her memory, something to hold on to in a future that is still clouded in mist and uncertainty.

 

Her fingers slip away from him then, an almost inaudible grunt escaping Daryl as his hips buck up, desperately mourning the loss of friction. But then she curls her hands into his jeans, dragging them down as far as his seated position allows. There is not much he can do to aid her, shifting on the ground to no avail.

 

Sighing in frustration, Carol steadies her hands on his shoulders, pushing herself back onto her feet. Despite the heat, she suddenly feels cold and exposed, the night air dancing through the layers of her dress and the curls of her hair as she all but towers over him. Her heart stutters in her chest when Daryl looks up, the stars framing her head like a crown of pearls and beaming lights.

 

This might be their last chance to back away and take the reasonable road. But how can she resist the temptation and the sheer fulfillment that is promised in his messed up hair and dark eyes? Slowly, her fingers gather up her skirt, reaching underneath. A sigh slips past her lips on its own accord as she skims up the insides of her thighs, warm skin tender to the touch. With her eyes locked on Daryl, his throat bopping as he swallows, she tugs at her underwear, pulling it down until it drops unceremoniously onto the grass.

 

Daryl moves quickly then, pushing clumsily at his pants, just enough to expose himself. She does not miss the way his hands linger around his groin, trying but failing to cover himself. It seems terribly unfair that she is still completely hidden from his view, but she can not gather the courage to reveal any more freckled skin to the moonlight.

 

Instead, she sinks back down onto her knees quickly, dry grass and dirt digging uncomfortably into the thick skin of her kneecaps. She keeps no distance between them, the bunch of her skirt covering his nakedness. That offers a small comfort and Daryl visibly relaxes, shoulders slacking and his torso gravitating towards her own. It traps her breasts between them, oversensitive in their confines, and Carol squirms on top of him, close to combustion.

 

Calloused fingers splay over her thighs, smoothing upwards until they disappear beneath her skirt once more. Her breath hitches violently in her throat when he trails his fingers along her skin, nothing left between her heat and his fumbling touch. His finger runs along the edge of her, her legs quivering in response.

 

Again, she wonders how much experience he has with this. It’s not that she isn't enjoying herself - quite the opposite, she feels the tension coiling low in her belly so tightly that she sighs his name into the crook of his neck, desperate tears brimming in her eyes. But there seems no rhyme or reason to his touch, no destination. Instead, Daryl seems to explore her, map out every rise and fall, uncharted territory that he stores away into his memory. There is a curiosity to it that has her heart fluttering and her lips press feather light kisses against his thrumming pulse point, and yet it isn't enough to quench the fire that is spreading through her in a wild blaze.

 

Her fingers fumble with the foil package, nearly dropping the condom into her lap just as Daryl's finger slips inside her - smooth and slick and the moan that it draws from her lips has her blushing.

 

_ Please _ , she whines, creeping her hand underneath the mess of her skirt, slipping the condom into Daryl's other hand. He nods, retreating his hands, and the emptiness he leaves behind has her hips rocking forward, aching.

 

She watches as he fumbles between them, forehead furrowed in concentration. All in all, he is taking too long, and she can no longer stand the sweat that is pooling along her back or the tension that is clawing at her skin, eating her alive.  _ Let me _ , she whispers, her hand quickly finding his, taking over.

 

_ Been a while _ , Daryl mutters, looking slightly embarrassed and sounding apologetic as she takes the condom from him. Her fingers freeze, hovering just above him. Once again, she wonders how much experience he really has, and the implications of his words actually take her by surprise a little. He might have been a virgin for all she knew, and that sudden realization has Carol judging herself for ever allowing this to get out of hand.

 

_ How long is a while? _ she asks softly, her free hand drifting up his torso to his shoulder, skimming along his neck until it falls into place against his flushed cheek.

 

_ Couple years _ , he mutters, and she desperately longs to wipe every ounce of shame away. But it seeps from every word and tiniest movement. The way he attempts to put some distance between them (nearly impossible considering how close they are, overheated bodies pressed flush against the other) or how his heavy head is aimed stubbornly towards the ground.  _ Only did this once. An' I was piss drunk. _

 

Something occurs to Carol then that has her relax against him. Like a warm breeze it laps at her, slowly melting away any inhibitions that might still be left, all doubt evaporating. Neither of them really knows what this can be like, what it truly feels like to be this close to another person. All she knows is duty and pain and feeling ashamed. From his brief confession, she deducts that Daryl can not possible have any fonder memories than she has, and that gives her hope and spurs her on.

 

_ Sorry, we ain't gotta _ , Daryl mutters once again, but Carol has made her decision. They can learn this together. If this night is all they have - all she is willing to take and all he is willing to give - then they can make the best of it. Be for each other what too many people failed to be in their lives until this point. Her hand curls around him again, less urgent now. He is warm and smooth and knowing that this is because of her has the wanting flail inside of her. He shudders, swallowing a grunt that sounds remarkably like her own name.

 

_ Do you want to stop? _ Carol whispers in his ear, nudging the shell with her nose, her hand setting a slow rhythm that seems to fit into this place. The crystal clear lake, the moonlight, she scent of scattered flowers. Everything slows down here, time oozing away instead of racing.

 

_ Ain't no point in askin' me that with ya hand doin' that _ , Daryl replies, his hands gripping her thighs, pulling her impossible closer. They both swallow a moan when the heat of her slides against him, her hand stuttering in her movement. Pulling back her head just enough to meet his hazy blue eyes, Carol seeks for one last shred of doubt in the depths. She wants this - wants to be wanted and to act on what she wants. But she needs him to feel the same, else none of this matters an ounce.

 

Perhaps he understands the struggle that squirms like a disease inside of her, because slowly, Daryl nods, and then his lips are on hers again, just as messy and sloppy as his hands that hold her hips close, the slide of slick skin almost unbearable.

 

Carol fumbles as she slips the condom onto him, too consumed by the heat of Daryl's tongue, by his smell that overwhelms her, all of it rendering her muscles incapable of functioning properly. But then her job is done, and she guides him closer, edging him towards where she is hot and aching.

 

Pulling out of the kiss, she keeps her face close to his, lips hovering barely an inch apart. Damp breaths mingle and soak into flushed skin, eyes open and raw, not a chance to hide the need in four pools of miraculous blue.

 

Daryl's grip on her hips tighten, and she struggles to remember when his hands landed there, fingertips digging into her flesh. With a shuddering breath, she raises onto her knees, whispering his name on a stuttering exhale as she sinks down again oh so slowly. Every inch of him stretches her, her body adjusting, a whimper escaping her lips.

 

_ Fuck _ , Daryl mutters through gritted teeth, dropping his forehead against her own. While her heart thrashes violently in her chest, Carol suddenly feels a misplaced and unexpected sense of calm wash over her. Trembling fingers curl around Daryl’s shoulders as she takes the last of him in, and to be with him like this, close and warm and whole becomes the epicenter of her existence. She'd trade every pathetic tidbit she owns to stay like this, and when he fills her this way and pants staggering breaths against her oversensitive skin, it is no far stretch to consider selling her soul to the devil to freeze this moment.

 

She does not dare move for a minute, soaking in the moment and all its details. The way Daryl's belt digs into the tender flesh of her thighs, the tickle of long and uncut grass against the soles of her feet. The rustling of the trees in the light wind. The scent of motor oil and popcorn that clings to Daryl. His breath fanning over her cheek. Goosebumps breaking out all over her body.

 

Eventually, the stillness becomes too unbearable, the tension in her belly aching for release. But this is new for her, being in charge, every movement depending on her. She almost waits with baited breath and frightful eyes for Daryl to take what he wants until she remembers that they both  _ want _ , and desperately so. It is easy to tell from his firm hold on her hips, the faint tremor that unsettles his body against her own and the way his eyes are screwed shut almost painfully. He wills himself to stay immobile and allow her the times she needs. He suffers for it, Carol realizes, reaching out to touch her hand to his cheek.

 

_ Hey _ , she breathes, drawing her thumb along the length of his cheekbone. Eyes flutter open in response, and still the strain is painfully visible, like a bow strung too tightly, ready to snap and tear at every given moment.  _ You okay? _

 

Daryl rocks his head stiffly, something caught between a nod and a shake, impossible to decipher.  _ This ain't gonna last _ , he bites out, shrinking under her gentle gaze. He is made up of insecurities, stitched together by low self esteem and carried by a constantly simmering flame of anger. In this moment, Carol does not want him to feel that old familiar way. Need pulsates inside of her – the need for him to not consider himself unworthy or a failure.

 

For this to truly be what she craves for it to be, he simply cannot feel the same way she does, deep inside. A beast lives there, sharp claws digging scars into her soul. Permanent damage that Ed left behind, constantly reminding her that she is weak, undesirable, plain, useless. She is none of that, and neither is Daryl.

 

A smile ghosts across her parted lips, and it takes her by surprise.  _ It's fine _ , she reassures Daryl, sinking her fingers into his hair, drawing a stuttered gasp from his lips just as she leans into a kiss.

 

Lost and more than a little insecure, Carol lifts her hips, the smooth glide of Daryl inside of her unlike anything she ever dared to imagine. Sinking back down, she whimpers into his eager mouth, and after that it is easier to find a rhythm.

 

Warm lips leave sloppy kisses along her jaw and down the column of her throat, sending shock waves through her entire body. Muscles contract in response, and she knows Daryl can feel the friction as he begins to move his hips against her, thrusting up into her ever so carefully as she grinds down. Leaning back, Carol exposes more of her throat, and Daryl presses a deft kiss into the hollow between her collarbones. Pearls of sweat adorn her flushed and freckled skin there, and when Daryl smooths his rough tongue over them, Carol nearly loses her balance. Just before she can fall backwards, Daryl props his feet more firmly into the grass, raising his knees until she feels the full length of his thighs pressing warmly against her lower back.

 

It gives her support, but also changes the angle slightly. With more leverage, Daryl puts more effort into his thrusts, a string of curses she can't make out over the rush of blood in her ears escaping him. She grips his hair tighter, pulling his head against her chest, hoping he can feel and hear the rapid fire beating of her heart.

 

_ God _ , she moans when he nuzzles his nose into the swell of her still covered breasts, nipples straining against the embroidery. A warm hand sneaks between them to cup the weight, his thumb brushing deftly over the peak, sending small pinpricks of pain through her veins.

 

Aching for more friction, the fullness not quite enough, Carol rolls her hips experimentally, grinding her pelvis against Daryl's still clothed abdomen. The result draws a loud moan from her lips, and Daryl’s grunt vibrates against her breast. She does it again, relishing in the sound. It makes her feel powerful, and the thrill of it has her hips moving faster, thighs aching from the exertion.

 

_ Carol _ , Daryl mutters, his voice gravelly, her name muffled against her nipple. He is so close to her, and she begins to ache for skin to skin contact. It is odd like this, still almost entirely dressed. Her fingers twitch against Daryl's neck, smoothing along his pulse point until she grabs hold of his shoulders.  _ Gotta slow down _ . He sounds wretched, mouthing at her breast through her dress and curling his hands around her waist to still her. But she is stronger, entirely unwilling to slow down when she is hurling towards the edge. With every passing second, the tension in her belly increases, her breathing turning into a quiet string of moans.

 

Desperate to feel his skin, she runs her palms down Daryl's arms, hot and slick with sweat. Gently, she crazes the rough, dry skin at his elbow for a precious moment, memorizing the bend of it, as well as the tense muscles that coil beneath his skin. They ripple at her touch.

 

_ Kiss me _ , she breathes, pressing the flat of her palms against his chest. Her fingers find leverage in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to it as she slows her hips, drawing lazy circles. Daryl curls one arm around her waist, a warm hand splayed across her back, the other sinking into her hair to pull her into a messy kiss. His grunt is muted by her lips, hips thrusting up more desperately and with even less finesse. 

 

Curls of her hair are plastered to sweat-slicked skin, and when he cradles the back of her head in his palm, the roughness of his calloused palms becomes a smooth glide. Beneath her own hands, his shirt is glued to his chest, the humid air now almost impossible to breathe in.

 

Hips stutter as she traces the seam of his lips with her tongue, his name a whimper that is carried inaudibly between them. Curious and brave hands slide down over his heaving chest, pressing deftly into the softness of his belly, muscles jumping beneath her touch. No longer able to deny herself the pleasure of feeling his skin against her own – hot and slick and soft – Carol maneuvers her hands between then, brushing against the base of him where they are joined. 

 

_ Shit _ , Daryl grunts into her mouth, her teeth sinking gently into the flesh of his lip to distract him as her hands find the edge of his shirt, slipping underneath the damp fabric easily. Warm, firm skin ripples under her determined touch, a fine dusting of hair tickling her palms as she smooths them up his abdomen. Daryl's hips pick up speed, and she gasps when he thrusts up into her much harder than before, his rhythm faltering. 

 

The kiss breaks when her thumb skims over his belly button, fingers splayed across his stomach. His head falls into the cradle of her shoulder, mouthing at the skin of her throat, and she knows he is close, that he can no longer hold back. Desperately, she grinds herself against him, chasing, chasing, moaning as he pulls her flush against him suddenly, freezing. 

 

He grunts her name into her pulse point, panting. Whatever small bout of disappointment Carol might have felt is washed away as she stills her hips, the tension in her belly deflating in defeat. He is sagged against her, heart hammering in his chest, lips pressing into her skin like the whisper of a kiss. 

 

_ Fuck _ , he mutters.  _ M'sorry.  _ He pulls his head away enough for Carol to see his flushed face and hooded eyes in the moonlight, gaze downcast. Once again, he looks miserable, and the moment they have shared begins to crumble. Like mad, she tries to hold onto it, pulling her hands out of his shirt to frame his face, forcing him to look up. But she says nothing, surprising him instead by closing the small distance and pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth.

 

Slowly, she begins to regain control of her body. Her thighs are aching, drying sweat itching against the planes of her skin, and finally the long day catches up with her. Allowing her eyes to drift shut, she curls her arms around Daryl's shoulders, locking herself in an embrace. His shoulder rises and falls with each breath when she rests her cheek there, catching her breath.

 

Daryl's hands around her waist maneuver her a little, steering her hips away from his own enough for him to pull out of her. It leaves her empty and sore, and she keeps her eyes closed as he fumbles a little awkwardly between them to rid himself off the condom. Constellations of stars shimmer behind her eyelids, every bone in her body aching for rest. 

 

She could fall asleep like this, she realizes, curled up against Daryl’s warm body, right here under the stars. It could be so easy and-

 

A gasp escapes her when a warm hand cups her heat, and all thoughts vaporize in her mind leaving behind thick clouds of mist that have her head swimming. Her grip around Daryl’s shoulders tightens as his fingers begin to move, drawing lines and circles, breathing life into the embers of her earlier fire. The strokes are less urgent than they were before, more determined now. Every muscle in her body tightens once more, the fatigue forgotten for the moment as sparks fizzle in her blood. 

 

Two fingers slide into her easily.  _ Daryl- _ she gasps, her hips grinding down against his hand on their own accord. It is almost as if she was seeking something unfathomable. Something deeper, purer, stronger. More. Just more.

 

Her fingers tremble as she curls them around his strong upper arms, and she watches her thumb as it traces the lines of his tattoo. She wonders if he has any others hidden beneath the armor of his clothes, more ink that tells secret stories in bold lines and delicate swirls.

 

Her whimper is muffled against his collarbone when Daryl’s hand slows down suddenly, and she pulls back her head to look up at him in confusion. Blue eyes flickering between her own and a stretch of grass over her shoulder, shyness cloaking him.  _ Show me? _ he mutters, swallowing.

 

With a sweet sigh, Carol lifts her head, pressing a kiss against his lips, a smile tugging at her own. Then, slowly, she slips her own hand between them, ghosting over his abdomen where his shirt has ridden up. A groan rumbles in his chest, but he keeps still until her hand covers his.

 

As she guides his hand, Daryl begins to move his fingers inside of her again, a steady rhythm that draws a moan from her lips. Her own fingers gently steer him until his thumb brushes her just right, and electricity shoots through her veins like a blinding white light. Apparently encouraged her her response – writhing in his lap and deepening the kiss – Daryl does it again, his thumb a little too eager. She slows him down, and he quickly picks up, softer movements taking over.

 

He is a quick learner, she notices, pulling out of the kiss to drop her forehead against his jawline. Soon enough, her own hand becomes obsolete, abandoning his to press into his abdomen instead. The warmth of his twitching skin is comforting, only adding to the unbearable tension. She feels like she is about to fall over the edge, tip toeing along the precipice, breath escaping her lips in warm huffs that tickle Daryl’s neck.

 

Eventually, he seems to remember that he has another hand that, until now, has held her waist steady, fingers digging into her flesh. In a quick move that speaks of more skill than he has so far shown, he sneaks the hand between them. Carol moans when he manages to maneuver his hand into her dress, weaving his fingers beneath the embroidery. For a brief second, she tenses, all her insecurities threatening to come crashing down over her again. But then his finger drags over her nipple, roughly in the tight confines of her dress, and as she shifts her hips just barely the angle is suddenly perfect. 

 

_ Jesus _ , she moans, desperate to push her breast further into his touch, struggling to bring her hips closer, his fingers deeper. She can feel him hardening against her thigh, her mouth going dry as she moves against him, unashamed and claiming, taking, wanting all over again.

 

Knowing he will not be able to keep his hand on her breast for long at this angle, she relishes in the sensation so much more, the scratch of his rough hand against the soft swell damn near perfect. She understands now why he lost all control when she slipped her own hands beneath his shirt earlier, the surprise of it catching her completely off guard, catapulting her forward. Still, her hands are still holding on to the edge, something holding her back as the ground drops infinitely beneath her.

 

Moving her hips forward, Daryl’s hand falters against her, inside her, for a brief second, her thigh sliding along the length of him. She drops a kiss just below his jawline, lips open, leaving a wet trail down his throat. Again and again she moves her hips in the same motion, stuttering fingers beginning to fall into place again, and she can't remember having ever been this close and yet so far away. Rugged breaths tickle the top of her head as Daryl pulls her flush against him, so close that there is little space between them anymore, anywhere.

 

Something occurs to Carol then, the thought shooting into her head like a bullet and leaving her open, raw and with a fresh wave of excitement.

 

_ Wait! _ she gasps. Daryl stops all movement immediately, and she caches his wrist just in time before he pulls his fingers from her, ending the wave of pleasure that is so close to cresting. 

 

_ Did I hurt ya? _ he asks, and there is so much worry in his eyes when she leans back to look at him, a soft glow that has her lungs closing up.

 

She shakes her head, nudging her hips forward encouragingly, her eyes nearly rolling into the back of her head.  _ No, just- _ Taking a deep breath to calm her quivering body, she grabs for her bag that still lies abandoned next to them. Her fingers get caught in the loops that hold her keys together, and she mutters a curse. Finally, her fingers curl around what she has been looking for, pulling it from the bag.

 

_ Fuckin' hell _ , Daryl groans when she holds up the second condom, eyes widening as she bites her lip almost coyly. She makes quick work of the condom, tearing the package open and sliding her hand between them again, slipping it onto him before either of them can clear their heads and question what on Earth it is they are doing here. 

 

_ Keep going _ , she breathes, stroking him a few times just to hear his breath hitch again and feel his fingers moving inside of her, and sliding against her. Her arms slip around his shoulders then, and Daryl bucks his hips up into hers at the loss of her touch, his lips leaving a damp spot on her temple. 

 

Gently, but with more determination than she remembers ever possessing her, Carol begins to pull on Daryl's shoulders, allowing her body to fall backwards a little. He seems to understand what she is trying to do, his hand slipping from her dress to rest against the small of her back, steadying her. Everything becomes a mess of legs and blue fabric for a moment until Carol feels her back hit the ground, and when the smooth, warm leather of his jacket kisses her shoulders, she smiles up at him. Her legs fall open, her skirt tickling the tops of her thighs and cascading against the ground around them, a poor but tender imitation of the lake that lies still behind them.

 

Daryl keeps most of his weight off her, leaning on one elbow, his other hand somehow still buried inside of her. But now he shifts, his hips falling into the cradle of her thighs like a key into a lock, pulling his fingers from her. Carol sighs, lifting her legs enough to push at his jeans and briefs with her bare feet, impatient to move them further down his legs and feel more of his skin against her own. She settles when they bunch messily around his knees, her hands curling around his lower back.

 

_ Please _ , she pleads into the crook of Daryl's neck, his thighs warm and pressed against her own. His thumb still circles her as he shifts, and stars begin to swim behind her eyes as she screws them shut, her body rigid and on the brink of bursting into flames. 

 

This time when he slides into her, it is all him. Her hips are angled upwards, eager and waiting, but she remains still, feeling the stretch and glide of him as a groan rips violently from her throat.

 

Carol's lower back arches off the ground, her dress sticking to the curve of her spine, and effectively traps his hand where they are joined. He is completely still inside of her, focusing all his concentration on his fingers against her slick skin, but she squirms impatiently because it's simply not enough, not what she needs.

 

_ Move. _ Her voice is a caricature of itself, begging and husky, and she trashes her head to the side as he pulls back all the way out, lingering. When he drives himself inside of her again, she wraps her legs around him, pulling him deeper, closer, his chest brushing against her breasts, his lips mouthing at her neck.

 

Again, he holds himself still inside of her for a few tortuous seconds before retreating, thrusting back inside slowly but with more force than before. His thumb slips a little as he presses her into the ground, and with the changed angle, the coil inside of her finally snaps.

 

White hot heat burns through her veins, one hand slamming roughly into the ground, fingernails digging into the dirt and tearing grass from the earth. The other claws at Daryl's arm. He tenses a little above her, but she is too far gone to care, too far to even be embarrassed by the sound that rips from her throat and tears through the night.

 

She is surprised that Daryl hasn't let himself go, but nothing can compare to the feeling of him moving steadily inside of her as her muscles contract around him, pulling him in further. His breathing is labored, lips finding hers in a messy kiss. 

 

_ Daryl _ , she whispers, easing the grip of her hand around his arm as she begins to relax. He moves above her with more steadiness than before, a slow pace that is almost tender. His hand slips from between them, and he cradles her head in it, pulling it into the cradle of his neck and shoulder when his hips pick up speed, his thrusts more forceful now. 

 

_ Can't _ , he stutters, groaning.  _ Fuck. _

 

Her body feels molten and slack, and despite the quicker pace, this feels lazy and slow. She wants it to last longer, to hold on to the warmth and the comfort, but he is in pain above her, and what she wants now more than anything else is for him to feel as good as she does. Sifting her fingers through Daryl's hair, she nudges her nose against the shell of his ear.  _ Let go.  _

 

With a grunt, Daryl drives into her one last time, her body edging backwards on the rough ground a little as he shudders above her before everything falls silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehem. I hope this made up for the lack of smut in chapter one. 
> 
> The third part might not be up for a little while since it will be at least as long as this, if not longer, and I am a little stressed out at the moment. But I'll try my best not to make you wait too long.


	3. more than friends

was it love? i think it was but i'm far from sure  
i'd never felt that way before, was it love?  
just friends, am i a fool to be asking for,  
a fool to wish that we could be more than friends

 

_come out of the shade_ , the perishers

 

_Here, let me get that._ Carol sighs in frustration, her arm bend at an uncomfortable angle as she tries to wipe dust and dried grass off her back. Daryl walks over towards her in two large strides, shoulders hanging low. She allows her arms to drop, fingers skimming along her own elbow, feeling the indentations left by the ground.

 

Softly, Daryl wipes away the dirt, brushing his hand along the embroidery of flowers and flowing blue fabric that embraces her. Then, with a sigh she is sure she was not meant to hear, he drops his own hand, leaving behind a trace of coldness that does not belong into the heat of this night. For a moment, they stand frozen like this, the warmth radiating off his chest and seeping into her back. It's tempting to take a small step backward and press her back into him, allow her head to drop against his shoulder. Lean into him, eyes fluttering shut, maybe brush a kiss against the side of his neck where his skin is slightly scruffy and so warm.

 

But Carol pushes away those thoughts and does not move, balancing herself on her sandals. Her calves are aching from keeping her weight from sinking her heels into the ground. _Did you get all of it?_ she asks, surprised by the slight croak in her voice. The dress is ruined one way or the other, but something needs to fill the silence.

 

The only reply she receives is an affirming grunt, and when she turns her head bravely, Daryl’s eyes are drilling into the ground. _Thank you_ , she whispers, folding her arms around her chest. It's instinctual, wrapping herself up like this, although she does not quite understand why she feels the desperate urge to protect herself in this moment. Perhaps it is the way Daryl avoids her gaze and nervously scratches the back of his neck. Or how silent they have been since he rolled off her, their fingers entangled for a good long while as they watched the stars shining above them.

 

_Do you..._ Daryl trails off into silence, clearing his throat. A part of her is afraid of what he is about to say, especially considering how hard it appears to be for him to actually get the words out. _Maybe ya wanna get, I don't know... Grab a coffee sometime or somethin'?_

 

An ache spreads through her chest that weighs her down, lips parting as an inaudible sighs escapes her. Daryl meets her gaze, looking like a frightened and pitiful small thing, backed into a corner and pleading, begging, screaming for even a flicker of light. Fresh memories still tingle all over her skin and in her heart, head spinning from it all, incapable to make sense of any of it. When she does not answer, his face crumbles like the ruins of an ancient city.

 

_I do_ , she blurts out then, her own eyes widening almost as much as his. _I do_ , she repeats more softly, taking a small step forward. _But... Daryl._ His name rolls over her tongue with bitterness coating it, and she does not miss the way he stiffens in front of her. He looks like a mess, hair spiked in all directions, cheeks flushed, a smear of earth lining his cheekbone that she must have left there earlier. Grass is littered all over his jacket, sticking to the leather that is still damp from her own sweat.

 

Her head shakes gently as she reaches out for his hand, thumb brushing cautiously across his palm. _I really do want to. But what I need, I think... I need to be on my own for a while._ Daryl listens intently, soaking up her words. _So, whatever this is-_ Her free hand waves a little awkwardly between them, bumping slightly into his chest. _Maybe we should slow it down._

 

For a moment, loaded and tense, Carol fears that he will not understand, that she hurt him and he will bolt. Perhaps he thinks she used him as a distraction. It is a surprisingly sharp pain that slices through her chest at the thought. Before tonight, he was a stranger, a constant presence in her life, but always out of reach, looming by the sidelines. Now, she can not imagine going back to that, to ignoring each other, walking past without the slightest notion of him or her.

 

Then, Daryl nods. _I get it._ The tight-lipped half smile he offers speaks of the pain it still causes him. Carol drops his hand then, fingertips lingering to prolong the separation.

 

_After everything with Ed, I just don't think I'm ready for... anything more._ They dance around what they really mean, a cloudy idea that rests between them, glowing softly in the darkness. _And..._ She hesitates, unsure whether saying the next words will cross a line. _I don't think you're ready, either._

 

Swallowing, she waits, curling her arms back around her torso, just beneath her breasts. Beads dig into her arm, leaving behind more temporary marks, small craters in the planes of pale, freckled skin.

 

_Probably ain't._ Daryl looks down again, his words gruff and barely audible. Still, there is no anger sharpening their edges, only a tinge of sadness that he tries to hide, almost succeeding.

 

_I don't want it to be like last time_ , Carol quickly continues, both to pull him away from whatever darkness is threatening to swallow him, and to soften the ache that is still tugging at her own heart. _I don't want to not talk to you again. I need this to be different._ Her wording does not go unnoticed, and suddenly the clearing shrinks, the air tightening the way it does before a storm. Briefly, her eyes flicker down to Daryl's lips, slightly parted and still swollen from her kisses.

 

Almost like the pull of gravity, her body tilts forward ever so slightly.

 

_We ain't in a hospital this time._ Daryl’s plain statement pulls her from her trance. When she looks up, his eyes are wary, and she understands what he just did. He saved her from herself, and ended the moment before it carried the both of them away. _Think we're good._

 

Memories of that night come floating to the surface, unwanted and chilling her to the bone. Almost instantly, her arms fold around her torso with much more force than before, her lungs aching under the pressure.

 

For almost six months, she kept it all hidden away, memories turning foggy and fleeting in her mind. Now, standing in front of Daryl with such brute honesty in his eyes, everything she assumed forgotten or dulled shoots back with agonizing clarity.

 

How Daryl found her in the school's parking lot long after the last class. Curled up into a quivering ball of limbs behind one of the dumpster, cries wrecking her body and never drying trails of tears glistening on her bruised and bleeding face. Usually, Ed never hit her this way, leaving bruises she can not possibly hide. But that day, he'd been so drunk, the promise of Friday night setting him on fire.

 

Carol pushes away the pain's echo, nervously kneading her fingers as the throbbing in her wrists slowly edges back into her consciousness.

 

She remembers how Daryl helped her into his truck when she nearly lost balance, stars twirling in a morbid dance in front of her eyes. How he drove her to a hospital two hours away without asking even one question. How he waited in an empty waiting room, chin resting on his palms. How he never faltered under the nurse’s icy stare. How he stopped by a gas station on their way back, buying her a sandwich and a bottle of water - neither of which she ever touched. How he dropped her off at her empty house, her parents gone for a weekend trip to Virginia, asking her if she'd be alright.

 

Thinking back to it now, Carol wishes she had not lied and uttered a shallow _yes_ that night. He must have seen right through the lie, and yet accepted it, respected the decision she made. That night, she should have offered him the truth, said _no_ and screamed and pleaded for help.

 

_What you did that night, I never really thanked you for that_ , she mutters, the combined weight of her guilt and gratefulness crushing down on her. But Daryl only shakes his head, looking almost a little offended.

 

_Y'ain't gotta._ He buries his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, and suddenly the anger that fuels him begins to seep back into his voice and stance. It is not aimed at her, she has seen enough anger to recognize that. No. This is a different sort of anger, the type that lashes at himself and a shadow on the wall that she can not name.

 

_You didn't have to do that._

 

_Ain't no trouble_ , he reassures her. For a moment, he waits, chewing on his tongue. _'Cept I can't go back to that hospital without them doctors thinkin' I'm the dickhead who beat up his girlfriend._

 

Carol offers him a bitter smile in return. The nurse had asked her multiple times how she ended up with her face so mangled, not buying the flimsy tale she spun to veil the truth. But Carol stuck to her lie, and leaned into Daryl when his hand came to rest against her back to hold her upright. He stood in the midst of a silent storm, clearly the guilty party in whatever had taken place.

 

_The point is_ you _didn't_ , Carol breathes. It is no surprise that he understands exactly where her bruises came from then and now - not after that night. Still, she is not quite ready to truly voice the truth.

 

Daryl nods then, and with a sigh steps past her towards his bike. Ready to take her home.

 

Her eyes are glued to his back, unwelcome tears prickling in her eyes. Now that the moment has come, she can not make sense of the spiderwebs of joy, pride, grief and confusion that stretch from one corner of her brain to the next.

 

She does not want this to be the goodbye that it feels like it is. The silence they drowned in before threatens to swallow them whole again, and it feels much like kicking her arms and legs against the current when she climbs onto the back of his bike behind him and presses an innocent kiss to his cheek. _Thank you._

 

A promise.

 

one year later

 

_You're late, man! We carried down half her shit already._ Shane's voice hollers across the meticulously trimmed front lawn, earning him a piercing glare from Carol's mother. The woman stands by the pearly white front door with her arms folded across her pink cardigan, lips pursed and eyebrows raised.

 

Shane nearly withers under her stare, clearing his throat and running a nervous hand over his newly shaved head. _Apologies, ma'am._ Rick snorts out a laughter as he pushes through the door, a cardboard box marked 'shoes' in his arms.

 

Carol rolls her eyes at Lori, her friend kneeling on the brick path that leads up to the house, re-tying her shoes as she chuckles. The roar of the motorcycle is suddenly cut off, and Daryl pulls the helmet off his head, hanging it loosely onto the handle. The early evening sun is beaming down onto them, and his hair is plastered to his temples, face flushed. His bare arms are covered in a sheen of sweat, leather jacket tied uselessly around his waist.

 

With a smile that puts that of the sun to shame, Carol crossed her parents' front yard, elbowing Shane in the ribs on her way.

 

_Couldn't get off work earlier_ , Daryl calls across the lawn, climbing off his bike. Heavy boots hit the sidewalk, and he shuffles a little to get the jacket off his waist, stuffing it onto the seat.

 

Shane only scoffs, disappearing back into the house.

 

_Hello, Daryl_ , her mother calls, and Carol nearly giggles when he blushes beneath the already prominent flush of his skin, nodding his head politely.

 

_Glad you made it_ , Rick says, sounding a little out of breath as he walks past them. With a groan, he shoves the box into the small moving truck that is parked just in front of Daryl’s bike. Daryl nods at him as well, turning to face Carol when she comes to a halt by his side.

 

_Sorry, took longer than I thought_ , he explains, keeping his voice down a little and scratching his chin nervously. Dark circles line his eyes, shadows cast by weeks and months of exhaustion – a lifetime of it that not even the recent months could wash away. So much has changed for the both of them since that night, doors have opened while others slammed indefinitely shut.

 

Keeping her promise was easier than she expected. Over time, they fell into a routine, a comfort forming between them. It took a while for her parents and friends to warm up to Daryl and welcome him into their tight-knit group. But now, with almost twelve months of time building up between them, he belongs here no more or less than any of them.

 

_Don't worry_ , Carol reassures him, reaching out her hand to briefly touch it to his arm. His skin is scorching beneath her touch, soothing the ache of her palms where indentations of carrying too many boxes have left their marks on her skin. _How did it go?_ she asks quietly, just above a whisper and throwing a cautious glance at Rick who is already on his way back towards the house. He presses a brief kiss to Lori's cheek, hand fleetingly brushing down her bare arm. It's a sweet sight that stirs a longing inside of Carol that she usually keeps locked away. It is easier that way, this thing Daryl and her have. No matter how close they have become, how easy they are to read to each other and how quickly a teasing word slips between them, they keep a careful distance.

 

None of her friends know what really happened that night, although sometimes Carol catches Lori eying the two of them with grate care and a twinkle of knowledge in her eyes. But she never says a word – something Carol is immensely grateful for. She could explain it all away as just sex, just a distraction, just giving in to being wanted and treated with care for once. Not even back then, when he held her in his arms and whispered her name into her skin like a prayer, was she sure that that was really what it was. Now, with so much time to ponder and recount everything that happened, she is even less sure.

 

Most days, she happily accepts what they have, what she wanted in the first place. He has become a closer friend than she ever imagined, and this is the way to go for them, easy and without costs. Still, some days when she looks at him she sees more than his kindness, than his unexpected wit and endless knowledge about her. She sees the way he smiles sometimes, and hears the higher pitch of his voice when she teases him. Those days, her body remembers how he felt when he kissed her and held her, what it was like to feel him move inside of her, and the way his breath turned so ragged at something as simple and fleeting as her touch.

 

Those days, Carol floats, arms desperately reaching for anything to hold on to, drowning over and over and waking the next morning with a void in her chest that she works hard to forget until the next time it comes rushing back.

 

Daryl sighs, knocking his boot against one of the bike's tires. _Was alright._

 

Carol is fully aware that that is only the half truth. There is no point for either of them to lie in front of the other, any such attempt easily detected. It is something she cherishes, but also a circumstance she dreads some days. There are so many truths she'd like to keep for herself, and the same must count for Daryl. The only real option they have is to simply keep those truths unspoken, or veil them in a half white lie that the other always sees right through.

 

In all the months that have succeeded that night, they have grown too close to not unravel the other like the most simple of riddles. With most of her friends leaving town to go to college, Daryl quickly become Carol's only anchor where she swam all by herself, left behind. He'd pick her up with his bike every night after he finished up at the garage and when she locked up the very diner they ate at that night. It was a job that she was grateful for, passing the time and earning her much needed money. Each night, she'd climb onto the back of his bike, her arms wrapped securely around his torso, wind lashing at their limbs.

 

They were both stuck here, desperate to leave this town and all its tainted memories behind. Thirsty for a new start. Together, time passed a little quicker. Stormy autumn afternoons spent in the trailer Daryl moved into, huddled up on a well-worn couch with a bowl of popcorn and a movie playing on the small TV screen. Never a horror movie. Cold winter nights sitting on the floor of Carol's bedroom, silence stretching between them like a warm blanket. The first days of spring passing in a blur on the back of Daryl's bike as they drove down empty roads, past glistening lakes and blooming fields.

 

Finally, Carol felt free. All strings that held her down for so long cut. And with Daryl by her side, the hours, days, weeks and months of waiting to finally spread her wings were sweet instead of bitter.

 

_I'm proud of you_ , Carol whispers, knowing he will cower under her encouraging smile but offering it all the same. He does blush, chewing on his bottom lip for a second as he nervously glances towards her friends. Their friends.

 

The fact that he was not actually working today is a secret he is unwilling to share with anyone else. Truthfully, there is an entire well of memories and secrets he is just barely able to share with her, much less any of the others. It makes no difference how easily he now fits into their group, spending time with Rick and Shane whenever they are in town, or offering to fix T's church van for free. He is one of them now. Still, he is stitched together by his past, a past that hangs like a dark cloud above him, always threatening to burst with bloody rain.

 

His brother is one of the many things he can not share, not with any of the others, and only to a small degree with Carol. Today is a milestone, months in the making, and Carol wishes she could just wrap her arms around him and make him feel as valued as he should for taking this step. For the first time in eight months – for the first time since Merle was locked up again – Daryl managed the three hour drive to visit his older brother.

 

Over and over, he had reassured Carol that he has no desire to talk to him, to see him ever again. Still, beneath it all, Carol detected the truth – just another lie for which he wasted his breath. And so, carefully, they worked their way towards this, lining the bare earth with bricks until finally, Daryl told her how much he truly misses his brother. Not the man locked up for selling Meth. No. The brother who he never really was, but Daryl always longed to have. The one he seems to be almost ashamed to miss. It was a quiet Sunday morning about a month ago when Daryl finally opened up, and Carol can hardly believe how far he has come, standing here now.

 

_True y'all almost done?_ he asks, still looking apologetic.

 

_No_ , Carol reassures him, shaking her head softly. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she continues in a quiet voice. _Shane's a little... tense today._

 

_What's up with his hair, anyway?_ Daryl scoffs a little, both of them now watching Shane and Rick carry her bedside table through the front door. The sun shines down onto Shane's bare head, an unfamiliar sight that makes him look angrier and more distant.

 

_Oh, I nearly forgot_ , Carol adds quickly, biting away a grin. _Don't mention the hair._

 

Daryl's face morphs into a hilarious expression of bafflement, eyebrows disappearing beneath his messy fringe. Secretly, Carol wishes he'd stop growing his hair. As silky soft as it looks - and she still remembers how it felt slipping through her finger's tight grasp - it hides his face. _Why? He going bald already an' shaved it all off?_

 

_No idea_ , Carol chuckles, tucking a stray curl of her own hair behind her ear. The wind is picking up, a few stray clouds in the sky and the growing humidity thick with the promise of a thunderstorm. _But Rick said it's a touchy subject._

 

_Thanks for draggin' me into this then_ , Daryl replies with a snort, taking a step forward. Carol follows, staying by his side. A grin spreads across her face and she bumps her elbow gently into his ribcage, earning a miserably fake glare.

 

_I made cookies_ , she declares as they walk down the path towards the front door.

 

One second, Daryl’s eyes light up, a marvelous blue that not even the sky can compare to, and then suspicion falls upon him, narrowing his brows. _Ain't got beet in 'em again, right?_

 

_No._ Carol's laughter fills the yard, and she does not miss her mother's brief but thorough glance at the two of them. _Carrots_ , she says dryly, watching eagerly as Daryl’s eyes widen. His admiration for her more experimental baking endeavors has been rather disappointing to say the least. _I'm joking, you idiot. They're just plain chocolate chip._

 

They step aside onto the neat lawn to make room for Rick and Shane, sweat pearling on their brows as they carry the small but heavy piece of furniture to the truck. _Ain't nothin' plain 'bout ya cookies_ , Daryl declares, and Carol feels her stomach doing tiny somersaults. They have stopped walking entirely now, stuck halfway between the sidewalk and the front door. She looks up at him with her smile etched onto her face, and despite the sun and the remaining echo of her laughter, a sense of bitterness creeps its way between them. This is their last day together.

 

Daryl seems to notice the shift, always painfully aware of her. _'Cept them beet ones_ , he mutters quickly, lamely bumping his fist against her exposed forearm. The brief touch is enough to raise the hairs at the back of her skull, dewy and all too responsive. Carol laughs shallowly to distract him from the avalanche of goosebumps that races across freckled, pale skin, but they both fall silent all too quickly.

 

She follows his suddenly hazy gaze across the lawn towards the truck, Rick and Shane shoving the table in between two boxes marked 'clothes'. With a sigh, Carol feels her heart sinking, a heavy weight pulling it into the ground. The bitterness of parting and the sharp misery in Daryl's expression are almost enough to bring tears into her eyes.

 

They have known for months that this day would come. The end of their time together. The day she moves to Virginia to finally go to college, leaving Daryl behind in this town. As happy as he is for her, genuine and palpable, Carol has not missed the distance growing between them with each day approaching this. Vividly, she remembers the night they spent together last year, the words he uttered with an unfounded sense of trust in her. O _ne day, I'm gettin' outta this shithole._

 

Now, she is leaving with everything she owns to finally cut her ties and leave this town behind. The memories, the stares, the judgmental whispers behind her back. And Daryl. Daryl is staying behind, working extra hour after extra hour at the garage from dawn until dusk to save enough money, returning to his cold and empty bed in his trailer with calloused hands and an aching spine day after day.

 

_Hey_ , Carol breathes quietly, resting her hand against Daryl's arm to draw his attention back towards her. _You'll get out of here, too._ She understands that he struggles to contain his anger and frustration in favor of supporting her and offering her all the help he can, reassuring her that she can do this and is strong enough to make a brand new start. All the tears she has cried from fear and uncertainty have dried. Somehow, she can now see the echo of their trails on Daryl's dry cheeks.

 

He swallows, his throat bopping as he does. The tan skin is darkened by the shade of a growing beard. For a moment, he averts her gaze, eyes still pointedly fixed on the truck, then flickering down towards the fresh green of her parents' lawn. _Gonna miss ya_ , he mutters ever so quietly. The words are muffled, hard to make out even for her, and impossible to even take note of for anyone else. They are also unexpected, hitting her like a blow in the guts, all the air sucked from her lungs.

 

She will miss him terribly, there is no denying that, and neither did she expect Daryl to feel any different. But to hear him utter the words when she thought he was only simmering in his own frustration... Her lips part, the words already on the tip of her tongue. She can taste them as vividly as she can feel the slight tremble of Daryl's arm under her touch, surprised to notice she still has not dropped her hand.

 

Knowing that this troubles him enough to actually verbalize it - open himself up and allowing for a tiniest moment of vulnerability - shakes Carol to her core.

 

_I-_ Her voice is just as quiet, a whisper that carries easily in the breeze. But everything else dies on her tongue when Shane hollers across the front yard.

 

_Daryl, you coming?_ Him and Rick stand on the sidewalk, sweaty arms crossed over their heaving chests. Almost as if she touched burning embers, Carol drops her hand from Daryl's arm, all the words she longed to say escaping her in a disappointed sigh. Briefly, she tries to convey them all with a glance, her own eyes sparkling with moisture, but Daryl refuses to let her in, already moving off the lawn and towards the house.

 

_Yeah_ , he replies, leaving Carol behind frozen on the grass. Rick and Shane catch up with Daryl quickly, and Carol catches a brief part of their conversation, although the words sound dull and distant.

 

_Did you check out that movie?_ Heavy boots crunch against dirt.

 

_Sucked balls._

 

A snort, and the clap of a hand on a shoulder. _Man, you got no taste._

 

With trembling fingers, Carol straightens her shoulders, her eyes meeting Lori's where she stands with her arms crossed and a pitiful and knowing expression in her kind eyes.

 

two years later

 

With a sigh, Carol plops down onto her bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Propping up her knees, she drags the aching soles of her bare feet across the patchwork blanket that is spread across her bed, savoring the ridges of the seams that scratch against her overheated and tired skin.

Beneath her head, the pillows sink, the smell of laundry detergent filling her nostrils. As the phone she has clutches to her chest connects the call, she takes a deep breath, inhaling the freshness.

 

Every muscle in her body aches, yearning for sleep and a chance to ease the tension that has her wound so tightly.

 

_Carol?_ Daryl's voice sounds distant with her phone on speaker, and still the eager sound of her name conjures a smile onto her sun-dried and chapped lips. She rests the phone on her stomach, balancing it just over her belly button. There is a small red stain at the hem of her white blouse, blood, she guesses. Her finger circles around it for a second, wondering if it will wash out.

 

_Turn on your TV_ , she instructs without preamble, watching the woman ushering up the staircase on her own screen. _174._

 

Daryl is silent for a moment, but the slight rush of air gives away his movements. _How'd ya know my channels?_ he asks then, the all too familiar creak of his worn couch echoing in a distorted way over the phone. Carol cranes her neck, feeling the muscles there coiled tightly, an unforgiving sting of pain shooting down her spine.

 

_I know you._ A grin that Daryl can not see spreads her lips, but she hopes dearly that he can hear it in her voice. The sound of his television blasts from the phone, a little out of synch with her own.

 

_No fucki_ _n' way._ Laughter bursts from her chest at Daryl's exclamation. The woman on screen gasps now as she meets the same grizzly end Carol and Daryl have witnessed two years ago in an empty movie theater, blood speckling marble floors and jarring music raising their heart rates. _This was such a pile o' shit._

 

_It was_ , Carol chuckles, listening as Daryl shuffles on his couch, probably getting comfortable on the pillows she'd given him for his birthday. He had looked at her with furrowed brows and a mild hint of disgust when she gave him the plain blue and gray throw pillows, all wrapped in a tidy red ribbon for show. Even her explanation that she could not spend another evening on his ratty couch without needing physical therapy afterward could quite convince him of the pillows' worth. But after a few strenuous days and lots of picking at the smooth fabric, he decided to keep them.

 

_Next time ya home, we gotta watch that zombie one that played_ , Daryl suggests, the unmistakable sound of boots hitting the surface of his coffee table thudding in the background. Carol rolls her eyes, trailing her fingers along her comforter. The phone is warm where is rests on her stomach, her blouse having ridden up just a bare inch, enough for a sliver of pale skin to meet the direct heat of the small device.

 

_Why? So we can be forever bitter about watching this instead?_ The movie really is not any better the second time around, she has to admit. The next twenty minutes pass quickly, both of them taking apart the movie line by line and shot by shot, bubbling laughter and gruff chuckles mingling along with screams and the slurping sound of blood. Outside of her window, the streetlight is flickering, and not for the first time Carol wonders when the ancient thing will finally resign and cloak the sidewalk in darkness.

 

Eventually, they both fall silent, and her eyes become heavier. Fatigue is clawing at her mercilessly, but she is unwilling to hang up and go to sleep, not when Daryl is almost right here with her, balled up on his couch, breathing evenly. Without their running commentary, the movie suddenly shifts from comical to nostalgic, and it evokes memories that Carol has long chosen to keep at bay for the sake of the friendship Daryl seems to have elected for them.

 

The sound of his laughter. Goosebumps erupting over sweaty skin. Muscles tensing and quivering in the safety of darkness. Cautious fingers smoothing circles into her bruised skin.

 

Quickly, those memories proof to be the key to a deeper well, one that reaches into her very core. The innocence of their hour at the cinema quickly burns away, and different images flash through Carol's mind. The movie fades away, her eyes closing in defeat as something deep in her belly tenses almost painfully.

 

The soft dryness of Daryl’s lips. Her name a pant into the crook of her neck. Calloused palms mapping out her quivering skin. Bare skin slick and smooth. The slide of him inside her.

 

A sound close to a croaked moan slips from her throat, and Carol clenches her fingers into tight fists by her sides, the white of her knuckles breaking through.

 

_Do you think about it sometimes?_ she asks, her voice nothing but a whisper. Blue eyes flutter open, and she watches the flickering lights of the television illuminating the dull white ceiling she is staring at. _That night._

 

It could have been an innocent question. Or at least, it could have sounded like one for Daryl, who can not see the flush in her cheeks and feel the rapidly increasing drumming of her heart. But the hoarseness of her voice gives away exactly what she is referring to, and Daryl's initial silence is proof that he understands. This is no question about bike rides, waffles and silly movies.

 

Carol swallows, waiting. Fear weaves its way between the heady strings of lust that suddenly spin through her veins, fear that she has scared him away. Perhaps it is her own damn fault, she thinks. Back then, she needed time and space to breathe, while unwilling to walk away from what Daryl so cautiously offered, and what that night promised. At some moment in time between then and now, whatever promise she made him that night dissolved and now seems forgotten. They have fallen into the cracks of friendship so easily and with so much to gain. She treasures it more than anything else, and still it frustrates her too often. For so long, she has been ready to live up to the promise she made, to take a step forward and change what they are.

 

She has never met another person whom she trusts so wholly and by whose side she feels as complete as she does with Daryl. A small part of her is still afraid, but the larger part – one that is squirming in the confines it has been locked up in – is ready to move on, to pick up where they left off that night under the stars. Her own fear is constantly mirrored in everything Daryl says and does, in the way he moves around her. And so, over all the time that has passed, perhaps the both of them have accepted that this is how it is going to be. This is what happened, and they each accepted defeat to a battle neither were ever quite brave enough to fight.

 

_Hmm_ , Daryl murmurs, and Carol's hand finds the remote, turning the volume down just a bit. She's not brave enough to switch it off entirely and expose the both of them to the unforgiving clarity of silence.

 

She has always wondered if he feels the same longing she does. The same pull that is both familiar and foreign. If he wonders as much as she does about how different their story might have been had she accepted his offer that night and pursued something more than a friendship. She feels no regret about her decision, but the curiosity is eating her alive.

 

_When do you think about it?_ Her blood pulses rapidly in her veins, and once again her eyes drift shut, lips parted as she gulps air into her lungs. Her left hand comes to rest against her thigh, the gray sweatpants so worn that she can feel the heat of her own fingers through the fabric.

 

_Don't know_ , Daryl replies, and she can no longer hear the movie playing in the background. _Just sometimes._

 

A million questions echo in her mind, combining themselves with vivid memories. It creates a turmoil that she can hardly stand, heat pooling in her abdomen. What exactly does he think about? The way it felt to kiss her? To have her wrapped around him? Does he remember the way she shivered in his arms or how she pulled him closer, deeper, craving more and more, so much more than he could offer?

 

Her hand slides down her thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. The pad of her thumb brushes over the exposed sliver of skin just above the waistline of her pants, and she trails it from one hip to the other. _Are you thinking about it now?_

 

Heat is pooling in her belly, her breathing adapting a slightly ragged quality, and the question sounds so heady that she wonders if he heard her at all. Brazenly, desperately, Carol slips her hand into her sweatpants, the touch almost enough to ignite flames. Trembling fingers slide over the coarse lace of her underwear, slowly, as she waits.

 

If her head were clear, she'd probably wonder how this conversation took such a crass turn. Why the memory of Daryl's touch is enough to make her squirm on her back, angling her pelvis up into her own touch, or why she so desperately needs to know if Daryl feels the same. A shy thought swells in her mind, the idea of Daryl being just as affected by the memories of that night giving her a sense of power and a rush that steers her hand further south.

 

A soft sigh rolls off her tongue, teeth sinking into the soft and warm flesh of her lower lip.

 

_Listen, I gotta go._

 

Her fingers freeze against the slightly damp lace of her underwear, eyes drawing open and her heart falling. There is a roughness to Daryl's voice that is, even after two years, still familiar. It tells her enough.

 

It is always like this between them. They take a dozen steps forward, and still they are going nowhere. Something inside the both of them seems to drag them back, an invisible rope tied so securely around their hearts that it hurts to move forward. She has been ready and willing to stand the pain for a while now. Daryl, however, is skittish like a small animal. It is easier to understand why now that his past is slowly unraveling through shy gazes and occasional cherished words muttered in brave moments when his walls come down.

 

In all the years they have coexisted without truly knowing one another, Carol never even imagined how much darkness and terror they have always had in common.

 

Slowly pulling her hand out of her pants, Carol's fingertip grazes the tiny swell of corded skin, a scar left behind by Ed years ago, never really fading. It does not bother her anymore, but right now, with tension in her every muscle and an emptiness in her heart that the strained sound of Daryl’s excuse to get away only amplifies, she nearly feels tears welling. It is physical proof of what happened to her, what she endured. What stands between her and Daryl. But it is not one-sided, not entirely her own weight that pulls them down.

 

She has always hated the idea of being alone – has been terrified by it, really. Now, she understands that that fear was one of the many reasons she stayed with Ed through all of his abuse. Especially early on, when he first began to show signs of shifting changes. Back when it would have been easier to let him go, back when the consequences would not have been so dire and her fear of his reaction much smaller. Leaving him, throwing herself willingly into her own worst fear, was a true fight against herself. One she fought bravely and won.

 

Now she understands that she can be alone without being lonely, without feeling detached and floating in space without anything or anyone to grasp onto. Still, that knowledge does not mean she has to like being alone, or to make her fear it any less. Something about her fear has changed, though. Over the years, Carol has come to realize that she does not have to be alone to maintain her new-found strength. Wanting to share her life with someone is no sign of weakness or dependence.

 

She wants that person to be Daryl. Deep down, she fears he might be the only person who truly understands her struggle. But perhaps, after years of silent suffering, they are both too broken to make a whole.

 

_Okay_ , she murmurs eventually, deciding not to push the matter. They both know that Daryl has nowhere to be and nothing to do this late on a Saturday night. He is running from whatever can of worms she just opened, and it is a natural decision to allow him the space. _Good night, Daryl._

 

Her vision begins to blur as Carol bites back her tears, fingers picking up her phone. She holds it high, looking at the name on her screen, waiting.

 

_Night._

 

The line dies not a second later, and with a sorrowful sigh, Carol casts her phone down toward the foot of her bed.

 

She understands Daryl, often times even better than she understands herself. He is terrified beyond anything to let her in, to make himself vulnerable. In some aspects maybe even more terrified than she is. Considering all he went through, it is understandable, and nothing she blames him for, not when she is his mirror image.

 

Still, it would be a lie to say she does not feel discouraged. For so long, she has tried. Tried to make him see himself the way she sees him. To make him understand that he is a good man, that he matters, that he is cherished and important. Whether or not he did it on purpose, it is the same Daryl has done for her from the very start. From the moment he helped her into his father's truck and kept her secret.

 

Hint after hint she dropped, fumbling to make him see her differently. To make him see her the way he saw her that night under the stars. The only responses she ever received for her attempts were blushes, half-hearted jokes or this. Complete rejection. Slowly, doubt begins to spread its ugly wings and claw its way into her mind. It is not unfounded to wonder if he simply lost interest over time. Or has she really scared him away?

 

Wiping away a stray tear, Carol turns onto her side, fingers trailing along the seam of her comforter. She does not have a clue what to do anymore, or how to feel. The movie plays quietly in the background, a sorry reminder of a time when she was just as clueless, but when the puzzle pieces simply fell into place.

 

Until she tore them apart again.

 

three years later

 

_Jesus, just piss off Merle!_

 

A smirk tugs at Carol's lips, her balled fist still raised at the door. Shuffling follows the gruff exclamation, dulled slightly by the metal walls of the trailer. Inside, someone approaches the door, and her heart leaps in her chest.

 

Just as she drops her hand to her side, the door is pulled open a little roughly. The hinges whine from the sudden impact, and the bottom of the door scratches along the linoleum floor with an unpleasant screeching sound.

 

_Sorry, I can come back tomorrow_ , Carol quips, crossing her arms in front of her chest. The air is thick outside, and her thin red shirt is already clinging to the small of her back, the bare skin of her arms unpleasantly sticky where they are now pressed together.

 

Daryl is silent for a few seconds, staring at her with parted lips and wide eyes. Most of his face is hidden beneath a messy curtain of hair. The sleeveless green shirt he is wearing exposes the tan skin of his strong arm, and Carol allows her eyes to flicker down for a moment, trailing her gaze down the length of his legs in his black sweatpants all the way to his bare feet.

 

_Carol?_ The baffled sound of his voice only intensifies her smile. He sounds tired, and not even his unruly hair can quite hide the circles under his eyes. Still, despite the obvious exhaustion, Daryl’s shock slowly gives way for something much more precious. His eyes lighten up, the blue now sparkling in the muted sunlight, and the corners of his mouth twitch, promising a rare smile.

 

Carol drops her arms, spreading them in front of her like an invitation. _Surprise._

 

_Why didn't ya say ya comin'?_ Daryl asks, pushing the door open a little wider and taking a step towards her over the threshold.

 

For a long moment, Carol allows her smile to speak on her behalf, softening it from triumphant to something sweeter. _Wanted to surprise you_ , she replies quietly, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest. All her nerves are raw and something bubbles inside of her, threatening to just blurt from her mouth. The true reason why she dropped everything back in Virginia and decided to travel here on such short notice.

 

Suddenly, standing here in front of Daryl for the first time in three months, Carol is not quite as convinced that this is a good idea, after all. She was so excited, so restless to finally gather enough courage for this, barely able to sit still on the train or when her father picked her up from the station. Yet now, looking into Daryl's open eyes, she feels all bravery slipping through her fingers.

 

As a distraction, and to quench the ever present urge to be closer to him, Carol steps towards him, the distance easily breached. His arms open willingly, curling around her as she leans into his chest. Her own hands wrap around his wide shoulders, splayed fingers covering his back. With a sigh, she rests her head against his chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart as his hands smooth up and down her back.

 

He smells of damp earth, motor oil and soap, and only now does she realize his hair is slightly wet, the tips weeping small teardrops of water.

 

_How long?_ he murmurs into the crook of her neck, the vibrations of his voice raising the hair at the base of her skull and sending a shiver down her spine. There is a sadness oozing from the short question that she understands too well, one that has her own heart aching in her chest. She does not miss the way he pulls her a little closer, nor does his deep inhale go unnoticed. In this embrace, he lingers, and Carol finds not a cell in her body that is opposed to it. Instead, she allows her eyes to slowly drift shut.

 

_Just a few days_ , she whispers into his shoulder, feeling his arms tense around her. One large hand has found the raise of her hip, resting there innocently while the other follows the highs and lows of her spine, mapping them out like valleys and hills.

 

Eventually, they have to part, a sigh slipping from Carol's lips when she steps back. For another second, Daryl’s hand seems glued to her hip before he inevitably pulls it away. Her skin tingles under the thin fabric of her shirt.

 

With a suddenly rather heavy smile, Daryl makes room for her, stepping to the side. He closes the door behind her without another word.

 

Warm, orange sunlight shines through the two small windows above the navy blue and patched-up couch. The gray curtains are not drawn, allowing the rays to dance on the speckled linoleum floor. The pillows she gave him are scattered all over the couch, the small coffee table empty except for two glasses and a flipped open magazine. The television is crammed into a corner, the remote most likely buried somewhere in the couch, if she remembers right.

 

Two chairs are pulled away from the table by the small kitchen area, mismatched and a little worn. The door to the bathroom is shut, a black towel hanging from a small hook glued to the white door. Down the narrow hall, Carol catches a glimpse of Daryl’s bedroom, the door creaked open. His sheets and pillows are a mess, all tangled up and bathed in sunlight.

 

Carol takes another step into the room, eying the two glasses on the coffee table. Daryl’s earlier words echo in her memory. She makes no mention of Merle, though. Not now, not tonight. They have spent enough time talking about his rogue brother on the phone in the last few months since he was released from prison. Daryl still struggles to really open up about him, but Carol assumes that much of his exhaustion is to blame on his older brother.

 

_Y'alright?_ Daryl's voice is lined with suspicion. As she takes a few steps towards the kitchen, Carol looks over her shoulder, finding Daryl by the door with his arms crossed across his chest and leaning against the wall. Something sparkles in his eyes, something that is sharp and merciless and slicing right through the layers she has wrapped around her. She no longer puts up any walls around Daryl.

 

_Yeah, I'm okay_ , she replies truthfully, her fingers curling around the back of a chair. Her eyes drift away from Daryl, cowering. He knows that there is a reason for her visit. Sometimes, she wonders just why he can read her so easily. _You?_

 

When he does not answer, Carol looks up briefly, just enough to see his shoulders shrug. He points vaguely at the couch, but she shakes her head, legs feeling numb and her fingers tingling. Her heart pounds in her chest, throat constricting with each breath she gulps down.

 

She should just say it all. Allow all those unspoken words to break free and just get this over with. Rip the band-aid from a wound they have been unable to tend to for nearly three years now. By now, it's reached their very bones, an infection spreading like wildfire through both their systems. The pain has become chronic, never truly easing, and she needs to finally drench the festering flesh in the only real cure. Honesty.

 

_Were you going to eat that?_ She points at a still packaged microwave lasagne on the kitchen counter, stepping around the table towards it. The counter is clean, a few freshly rinsed dishes drying on a rack, a row of cereal boxes next to a mostly empty bowl of fruits and vegetables.

 

_Mhm_ , Daryl murmurs from the other end of the room. Her fingers run along the damp paper package, the food inside quickly thawing in the warm room. She shakes her head at the surely awful dinner, almost inclined to check Daryl’s fridge for anything of use to turn into a proper dinner. It is suddenly all she can think about. How he surely inhales a bowl of sugary cereal at the brink of dawn. How he absentmindedly chews on a packaged sandwich during his short lunch break, only to come home late to warm up something like this and eat it alone in front of the television.

 

The thoughts consume her, erasing all others. Her mouth is dry, and she can not find a single word to say.

 

She barely takes note of the sound of Daryl’s approaching steps, even though the trailer whines beneath each step. Damp fingers curl around the edge of the counter, holding herself upright as her nerves threaten to overwhelm her.

 

Then, so slowly yet so unexpectedly that she sucks in a sharp inhale, two warm hands come to rest on her sides, fingertips just crazing the base of her ribcage. For a brief moment, she stiffens, taken aback by Daryl’s brazen move. He never touches her without being given a hint, and never like this. It's tender, and Carol struggles to keep her quivering arms under control when he steps into her space.

 

He is not close enough for his chest to press into her back, but she feels the warmth radiating off him nonetheless, her fingers curling violently around the counter to keep her knees from giving in.

 

_Missed ya_ , he murmurs hoarsely, fingertips digging ever so softly into her sides. It almost tickles, but she bites back the urge to squirm. Instead, she chews on her tongue, desperate to answer him, to confess how terribly much she has missed him, too. How it tears at her to be so far away. Not just physically. But to have this void stretching between them filled with everything they can not say.

 

This is her chance, but the words turn into ash in her dry mouth, and she can hardly part her lips. Instead, she manages a weak nod, releasing a breath she did not realize she held captive in her lungs. Then, slowly, she turns around. Giving Daryl enough time to react, he does not break contact, his hands merely readjusting as she comes to face him. There is so little space between them now, the tips of her flats bumping into his toes, and their faces too close to hide anything.

 

_Why did ya come?_ The question is quiet, and yet it rings in the small space. She was right earlier when she assumed he knew that a mere surprise could not be the sole reason for her visit. She barely visits. It's simply too expensive, and Daryl understands more than anyone that she has to fight to return here, to face all the memories that the town harbors. As much as it hurts to stay away, it only renders whatever small amount of time they do get to spend together all the more precious.

 

Staring into the clear blue sky of Daryl’s eyes, Carol wants to shout at him, slap sense into him until he finally _sees_. Every fiber of her yearns to tell him that she has had enough, that the time has long come for them to move forward. That they are both stupid for freezing into place and refusing to budge.

 

_Did you really miss me?_ Her voice break on the first word, but she pushes through it, hating the frail tone of her question.

 

Daryl's brows furrow, making him look so much older. His grip on her tightens a little, almost as if his body is trying to reply on his behalf. _Course I did_ , he states plainly, eying her with more concern. There is even a hint of shock to his expression, and Carol wonders if he is truly scared that she might doubt his word. She doesn't, not one bit. But she needs the confirmation, needs to hear him say the words.

 

A lump forms in her throat, nearly cutting off her airways, and so she keeps asking, keeps demanding, keeps her lungs open. _Are you seeing anyone?_

 

_What?_ This time, Daryl raises his voice a bit, taking a miniscule step back. His hands, however, remain in place.

 

_Are you seeing anyone?_ Carol repeats calmly, bracing herself for his reply. It's a small fear, an annoying itch that she needs to scratch before she moves this any further.

 

_What's all this bullshit?_ Her heart burns in her chest, full to the brink and incapable of putting this off any longer.

 

_Just answer me, please_ , she pleads, her hands sliding off the counter to which she still held on, knuckles white and angry. Now, her arms dangle limply by her side in the space between them.

 

_No, I ain't_ , Daryl replies after a few tense seconds, shaking his head at her in disbelief. _Ya know I-_

 

Carol has a good idea about what he is going to say, but she can not bear to hear it. Not now. Instead, she lunges forward, nearly crashes into Daryl as her lips meet his, silencing him. He freezes against her for a moment, and her heart thuds so loudly that she is sure he must hear it, too.

 

Then, slowly, he melts. The fingers at her side move down to gently grasp her hips, drawing her closer. Her chest meets his as she sighs against his lips, more pliant now and moving against hers softly. With restless hands, Carol smooths up the length of Daryl's shirt until she finds leverage on his shoulders, rising onto her toes to be closer.

 

One hand sneaks around his head, eager fingers sifting through the strands of his hair. His hum vibrates against her lips and she parts her own, their breath warm and damp. He tastes faintly of soda, sweet and a little tangy as she draws her tongue against his bottom lip.

 

The moment consumes them both, and Carol hardly notices that Daryl is taking small steps forward, not until the small of her back softly bumps into the counter. Deepening the kiss, she presses her palms into Daryl's strong shoulders, and when his hands slide up towards her waist, he helps her up, sitting her on top of the counter. Her legs fall open on instinct, and Daryl steps between them without breaking the kiss, one hand grazing the swell of her breast as he moves to cup her cheek in his palm.

 

With a sigh, Carol arches into him, bracketing his hips with her thighs, pulling him a little closer. Hungry for air, she eventually breaks the kiss, granting Daryl not even a second to doubt her before peppering a row of damp kisses along his jawline. Her hands have curled around his neck, holding him close, her nose bumping into his scratchy cheek.

 

A soft groan vibrates in his chest when her lips trail down his throat over his thrumming pulse point. The hand on her hip tightens its grip, causing Carol's veins to catch fire. His thumb moves in circles over her hipbone, brushing a sliver of bare skin where her shirt has ridden up.

 

It's all a little too much too soon and yet not nearly enough, and so Carol arches her back to get closer to him, her legs locking around his thighs to pull him closer. Daryl stumbles a little, grunting slightly when his hips buck into hers. They both still for a moment, petrified. The clock on the far wall ticks steadily, and only the sound of their strained breathing breaks the rhythm.

 

Slowly, Carol pulls her lips away from Daryl’s skin, allowing her forehead to drop against his collarbone. Soothingly, she trails her fingers down the slope of his neck, her other hand finding his heart. Her pale fingers splay there, curling just slightly into the fabric of his shirt.

 

She nearly purrs when Daryl drops a kiss to the crown of her head before resting his chin there. They hold each other close for a long while, time blurring as their breathing falls into the same pattern, and hands smooth and hold and brush softly over planes of covered skin.

 

_I didn't think ya still..._ Daryl's quiet voice trails off into silence, wonder apparent in every single word. Carol smiles against his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss against his chest through his shirt. In his arms, she melts and suddenly feels weightless, floating for the first time without fear.

 

_I know_ , she whispers, curling one arm around Daryl's torso to keep him close. _I didn't think you would, either._

 

A calloused finger seeks out her cheekbone, brushing soft strokes against her freckled and flushed skin. _This why ya came here?_

 

Finally allowing her eyes to flutter open again, Carol finds herself faced with Daryl’s shoulder, the warm sunlight bathing the room behind him in a diffuse, orange glow. Like a painting, she thinks with tenderness in her heart. _Sort of_ , she says then, pulling back just enough so she can look at Daryl. His eyes are fixed on her, a little darker than before, yet his face has softened.

 

He looks down at her questioningly, still cupping her cheek in his warm hand. Leaning into the touch, Carol takes a deep breath. _Come to Virginia with me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I'd like to apologize that this took so much longer than my usual updates. But I've been writing so much lately, it's getting very exhausting. So, I decided to take things slow and not write every day, and not write too much in one sitting. I hope you enjoyed this and that the wait was worth it.
> 
> Also, this story was supposed to be three parts, and that was the plan until earlier this afternoon. That's when I realized that this chapter would get super long if I actually wrote everything I want to. Because I want all the chapters to be around the same length, I decided to end this chapter here and actually write a fourth one instead of squeezing everything into this one. That means I'll expand a little on what happens after this, and I'm actually quite excited about that.


	4. I collided into you

caught in the riptide  
I was searching for the truth  
there was a reason  
I collided into you

 

_Here With Me_ , Susie Suh + Robot Koch

 

Slowly, as realization dawns on him, Daryl's eyes widen. The smoothing motion of his thumb against her cheekbone stills, and he seems to hold his breath for a moment. Scanning her face, he searches for any hint of a joke or a cruel dream, Carol supposes. It's an aching thought and she wraps her arms tightly around his torso to chase away his insecurities.

 

_Ya serious?_ he asks, swallowing deftly.

 

Warmth spreads lazily through her veins. It is different from the earlier heat that blazed like fire. Instead, it reminds her of the gentle glow of the sun, softening all edges. Her smile reflects the comfort and affection that swell in her chest, a tender curl of parted, damp lips.

 

_Yes_ , she rasps, nodding softly. For a moment, she simply allows them both to breathe, holding back her explanation to soak up the shine in Daryl's eyes. His hand smooths down along her jaw and into the curls of her hair, cradling her head. _A friend of mine up there, he's opening a garage_ , she finally explains, keeping her voice low. She's still painfully aware of how fragile this is, and the fear of shattering it into dust is evident in the flutter of her voice. _He has all his guys, but he's looking for someone who knows a bit more about bikes. I..._ So far, Daryl has listened to her calmly, but now he tenses again, waiting. _I might've told him that I know someone._

 

He seems petrified, gaping at her in disbelief. For once, Carol is not sure how to read him and how to interpret the hint of shock that does not waver. _You don't have to if you don't want, but I just thought-_

 

She gasps when Daryl's lips crash into her own, silencing her. Everything she has been about to say, all reassuring words and mindful suggestions evaporate until the only thought left in her mind is _Daryl_. Her eyes fall closed and she relaxes against him, humming softly as she slowly gains control over herself and eagerly responds to the kiss.

 

Daryl's thumb brushes along her earlobe teasingly, and the sparks that simple touch arouses shoot down the length of her spine. Tilting her hips forward, they are both reminded of the lack of space between them. She swallows his grunt when she bucks into him, his own hips grinding into her for friction.

 

Her tongue traces the seam of Daryl's lips, begging for entrance, and then all turns into a dance of warm, wet skin to the melody of panting breaths. The hand plastered to her hip tightens its grip, massaging the soft flesh until her shirt bunches up and calloused fingers meet her smooth skin. His thumb falls into the hollow of her hipbone, and she arches into the touch, moaning quietly into the kiss when the seam of her jeans and the evidence of Daryl's arousal rub against her just right.

 

It is a delicious friction that has her skin breaking out in goosebumps and her arms tightening around Daryl's torso. Almost desperately, her fingers curl into his shirt, clawing at it as she grinds into him. He seems just as lost, moving his hips in a stuttering rhythm against her. A groan rumbles in his chest, and Carol can feel the vibrations of it where her breasts are pressed against him.

 

Her nipples strain against her bra, desperate for even the barest touch. With more fervor than she thought herself capable of, Carol squeezes her thighs tighter around Daryl’s, locking him in place. She nearly whines when he parts his lips from her own, panting against her flushed skin for a brief moment. Their eyes lock, storm clouds gathering in the pools of powder blue.

 

Carol releases a long exhale, a little voice to it that has Daryl trembling against her. Determined, she circles her hips against his, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs. Daryl needs no further encouragement, diving into the crook of her neck and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses against the freckled skin he finds. Her pulse thrums rapidly when he nips at the sensitive skin just below her earlobe, his tongue warm and rough as he soothes away the mild sting of pain.

 

His breathing is labored in her ear, both hands now curled around her small waist, digging into her soft belly and holding her flush against him. _Daryl_ , she pants, craning her neck back to offer him more space. Against the skin at the base of her throat where her neck meets her shoulder, she feels his lips curl into a chaste smile, his nose nudging the neckline of her shirt.

 

_This okay?_ Daryl rasps, the fingers of his right hand toying with the hem of her shirt for a moment, teasingly slipping beneath the fabric. He skims along her belly, the milky skin there rippling under his touch. Carol can only nod a little frantically, curling her hand into his soft, damp hair. It's silky as it slips through her fingers, the smell of pines filling her nostrils. Taking a deep breath, she clutches him to her as his hand slips fully under her shirt, warm and a little rough where it splays across the flat plane of her stomach.

 

Her hips stutter against his again, and she teases her hands down the length of his back. _Better than okay_ , she sighs when his hand cups the weight of her breast, thumb feathering over her nipple where it strains against the plain cotton. A spark shoots through her, tensing the muscles in her abdomen almost painfully. Her mouth suddenly turns dry, teeth sinking into her lower lip as she sucks air into her lungs with a silent yelp.

 

Daryl's lips outline the column of her throat, his nose nudging against her jawline while his other hand also slips beneath her shirt. It finds its place in the gentle curve of her waist.

 

Eager fingers pull down the cup of her bra just as he claims her mouth in another kiss, lips and tongues and teeth meeting rather inelegantly. They find their rhythm quickly enough, and Carol forgets how to even use her tongue for anything but this when his thumb traces a circle around her nipple, teasing her, never quite close enough. Her back bends at an uncomfortable angle trying to move his hand where she needs it to be.

 

When he finally brushes his thumb over her nipple, a moan tears from her throat, almost muffled completely by Daryl’s mouth. He palms her breast, feathering his thumb over the hardened peak, all his movements stuck somewhere between shy and eager, messy and just right.

 

The air in the trailer seems to grow unbearably thick, humidity clinging to the small space. It is a struggle to suck air into their lungs, there seems to be none left and neither of them is quite willing to end the kiss for even the breadth of a second. They are pressed so closely together now that nothing really fits between them. Daryl’s hand is trapped over her breast and Carol feels the counter top pressing uncomfortably into her thighs.

 

She uses the fingers she has curled around the waistline of Daryl's sweatpants as leverage to grind her aching core into his erection more urgently. The friction is not enough, only leaves her feeling reminded of the emptiness inside her.

 

Boldly, she reaches into the back of his pants, smoothing her palms over his briefs and grabbing a hold of him that leaves Daryl grunting miserably into her mouth.

 

_Carol_ , he manages to breathe against her lips, his own willpower fickle as he surrenders to another kiss, deep and languid. But then, much too quickly, the hand around her waist tightens and he parts their lips with a wet sound that sends sparks flying in Carol's belly.

 

_What is it?_ she rasps, ever so slightly running her blunt nails over the firm curve of his ass. He closes his eyes, brows furrowed as he struggles to hold still.

 

Carol stills her movements then, hands hovering over his tailbone. Despite the heat between them, Daryl suddenly looks timid and hesitant. For a brief, wretched moment, she fears he might change his mind or be reasonable for their sakes and suggest they take this slow this time around. But with all the time they have wasted already, _slow_ is the last option on Carol’s mind.

 

After a few strenuous seconds, he opens his eyes. _Not like this_ , he whispers, a soft but tight-lipped half smile teasing his lips.

 

She doesn't quite understand, but his fingers squeeze around her breast again and that has to be a good sign. _Hmm?_ she hums, cherishing his warm breath tickling her cheeks. The tip of her nose nudges sweetly against his, a chaste gesture that almost causes a giggle to bubble up - it contradicts the hand on her breast and the bulge pressing perfectly against where she can feel herself growing too warm and slick.

 

_Gonna do this properly this time_ , Daryl mutters, brushing his lips against the corners of her mouth. Carol's brows furrow as she sifts through his words, trying to make sense of them when her head is swimming and the planes of her skin are quivering at Daryl's touch. She remembers that night – last time – so very vividly, especially now that she can once again taste Daryl on her tongue, breathe in the scent of him and cherish his hands on her. Within all those memories, she can not find a single flaw. The wheels turn behind her forehead where frizzy auburn curls are plastered to sweat-slicked skin.

 

Daryl's warm hands slip from underneath her shirt, and the loss of them leaves Carol feeling oddly cold despite the heat, bare while fully clothed, and aching even more than before. She stifles a whine, smoothing her hands up Daryl's back in a weak effort to get him to touch her again. But he only looks at her with so much determination that it nearly makes him appear smug, and then his hands slide up her thighs. His thumbs ever so slightly tease the insides of her thighs where they are pressed into his sides, and then he slips his hands between her and the counter, pulling her up against him.

 

For a delicious moment, that move knocks the breath right out of the both of them, her moan muffled when she limply drops her head into the crook of Daryl's neck and his groan rumbling in his chest. He is pressed up against her entirely now, her abdomen soft against his hardness. Then, slowly, Carol begins to understand what he's been trying to say and do.

 

_Don't drop me_ , she warns, her words muffled by his neck. Gently, she nips at the slightly scruffy skin, the shadow of a beard darkening it even more than the sun already did. Daryl only chuckles at that, and once she has her arms curled tightly around his shoulders, he lifts her easily off the counter.

 

Her fingers play with the damp ends of Daryl's hair, curling them around the tips and tugging just enough to add a slight hitch to his wide steps. It's grown so much since the last time she ran her hands through it like this, but it feels just as soft. Feeling a little bold and overstimulated, she takes his earlobe between her teeth, not enough to cause him any pain.

 

_Damn it_ , he hisses, nearly stumbling, and then she can not help but yelp when her back rather roughly bumps into a rattling door. It is the bathroom door, she briefly notes as the towel drops to the ground. But then Daryl’s lips are crashing into hers again and he gives her thighs a squeeze, rocking his hips into hers almost frantically. _Gotta stop that._ His words tickle her lips when he growls them, and something akin to pride swells in her chest.

 

With Daryl's front pressed against hers and the door as a support against her back, Carol slips her hands into the tight space between them, feeling his heart pounding away inside his ribcage. Lingering there for a moment, lips curled into a gleeful smile, she allows all her affection to wash over her. He is like this because of her. Even after all this time. It's an encouraging thought, and so she does not hesitate for long before her fingers dip into the waistline of his sweatpants.

 

He grunts, forehead dropping against the door by the side of her head with a loud thud. Her fingers ghost through the fine dusting of hair she finds, criss-crossing over his abdomen. Muscles twitch underneath taut skin in response to her touch, and she presses her lips against Daryl's temple when he bucks forward and up. But she keeps her hands away from where he needs her, instead pressing her palms flat against his stomach.

 

It gives him a moment to gulp down some much needed air and regain some control. _Ain't gonna drop ya_ , he mutters into her neck, dropping an open-mouthed kiss just below her ear.

 

With his grip on her thighs tightening, Daryl moves them away from the bathroom door. In four large strides, they have reached the bedroom, and he kicks the door open wider a little clumsily with his foot. Carol sighs, her head resting on his shoulder, allowing her breathing to slow down a little.

 

The room is tiny, barely a foot of space between the walls and each side of the bed. A dresser is squeezed next to the door, some drawers left open, revealing a mess of unfolded shirts and mismatched socks. Sunlight bathes the room in an orange glow, warm and comforting. Something about it all is almost lazy, reminding Carol of those treasured Sunday morning where she'd curl up in her bed for hours and just watch the clouds float across the powder blue sky outside her window.

 

Her fingers map the base of Daryl's skull, tracing patterns into the soft skin. She stopped believing that anything could be perfect and complete a long time ago, but right now, she feels like she is as close to it as any living, breathing person could ever be.

 

Daryl maneuvers them around, slowly sitting down at the edge of his unmade bed. The sheets are tangled, pillows cast this way and that. Birds chirp outside, their song filling the silence with a cheerful melody, and one quick glance confirms that he left the window slightly ajar. It allows for the scent of pines and earth to fill the room, blending perfectly with the crispness of laundry detergent and coffee. A cup of it has been abandoned on the floor, half empty and stained.

 

Adjusting her legs, Carol presses her knees into the mattress on either side of Daryl's thighs, hovering over his lap. Leaning back to meet his gaze, she cups his face in her hands, pulling him in for a kiss that leaves them both breathless. Now that he no longer needs his hands to support her, Daryl allows them to roam over the planes of her back, up the ridges of her spine and down over the curve of her waist. Her shirt bunches up slightly, fingertips grazing bared skin.

 

_Can I take it off?_ he huffs against her swollen lips, eying her with both a pleading curiosity and almost palpable shyness. Carol's breath stutters for a moment, her entire body tensing above him. She feels no fear of rejection from Daryl, not when he is already looking at her like she sometimes gazes at the stars at night. Still, old wounds begin to throb, phantom pains haunting her.

 

When she remains silent and immobile for too long, Daryl's face falls slightly. He tries to hide his disappointment, instead leaning in to kiss her flushed cheek. But Carol pushes her hands into his chest, putting some distance between them. He looks up with confusion and a hint of fear that he crossed a line, dropping his hands onto the mattress by their sides.

 

Softly shaking her head, Carol swallows all her insecurities, reaching down to grab the hemline of her red shirt. Struggling with trembling fingers, she quickly pulls the garment over her head, tossing it onto the floor behind her. If she goes about it any slower, she knows she'll crumble and cower, climb out of Daryl’s lap and storm out into the sunset.

 

She's surprised when Daryl keeps his eyes locked with hers, his gaze never flickering downwards. In her chest, her heart flutters nervously, and the urge to cross her arms in front of herself is almost unbearable, the muscles there itching to move. But she resists it, exhaling on a sigh. Slowly, Daryl leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her slightly parted lips. His hands are still flat on the sheets, waiting.

 

Smiling gently into the brief kiss, Carol reaches behind herself, feeling the skin of her back slightly damp with sweat. Her fingers fumble with the clasp of her bra for a moment until it pops open. Daryl leans back to give her some room, yet his eyes never waver, fixed on hers. She slowly smooths the thin straps down her arms, fishing the plain cotton out from between them. Silently, it joins her shirt on the worn linoleum floor.

 

Holding her smile is a fight she nearly succumbs to, her face threatening to crack like ancient ivory. Daryl's nose nudges hers, and he hovers with his lips just an inch above hers. Her teeth sink into the flesh of her lower lip as she drops her hands to her sides, finding his. Slowly, their fingers weave together, soft and trembling against rough and steady. Gathering whatever crumbles of bravery and confidence she still finds inside of her, Carol lifts Daryl’s hands.

 

His eyes widen a little when she presses his palms against her bare breasts, and she relishes in the sight of his bopping throat. A small sigh slips past her lips at the warmth of his hands on her, the peaks of her breasts sensitive to his touch. _It's okay_ , she whispers, finally breaking the heady silence.

 

She lets go of his hands then, curling her arms around his neck instead. Daryl only manages a weak nod, suddenly looking about as nervous as she feels. He leans down slowly, brushing his lips against her jaw as his fingers squeeze around her breast. Pleasure shoots through her, burning away most of her doubts. She drops some of her weight back onto Daryl’s lap when he follows the curve of her throat with his lips, feeling him still hard beneath her. Rocking slightly into him, they both stifle a moan.

 

His grip on her breasts tightens, fingers brushing over the stiff peaks as his lips mouth at her collarbone. Heat crawls through her veins, leaving no room in her mind to worry about what might go through Daryl’s mind right now, if he finds her pretty or enough. None of that really matters when he runs a trail of damp kisses over her freckled chest, sighing against her breastbone. His forehead drops there for a moment as he seems to collect himself, thrusting his hips up against hers.

 

_It's okay_ , she repeats, her voice barely audible. Against her chest, Daryl nods, moving his hands away from her breasts and down her sides, skimming over each rib until he grabs a gentle but steady hold of her waist. _Oh-_ Carol gasps, whatever complaint she has been about to utter rendered useless as he drops a kiss on her right breast, the scruff on his chin brushing against her nipple. A shiver runs through her, and she grasps his shoulders to give herself leverage. Arching her back, she pushes herself against him, and it seems to be the last bit of encouragement that Daryl needed.

 

With a sloppy enthusiasm she remembers all too well, he closes his lips around a nipple, and the world turns black in front of Carol's eyes. Stars sparkle behind closed lids as she holds him close.

 

She struggles to keep her own hands occupied as Daryl laps and sucks and kisses her skin, and she'd feel bad about neglecting him if not for his soft pants and the stutters of his hips. Quickly, his hands around her waist guide the circling of her hips, keeping her from setting a rhythm much too quick for him to endure. It's a sweet thought that tastes syrupy on her tongue and reminds her of how flushed his cheeks had been that night, and how her name sounded tumbling from his tongue without any real sense to it.

 

Even now he mumbles something unintelligible against the swell of her breast, but she feels too heavy to ask him to repeat it. His lips find the underside of her left breast, grazing the skin there. Carol tenses for a second, knowing what his lips are currently feathering small kisses against. The puckered, white skin of a scar is less sensitive than the rest, and his caresses are slightly dulled. Slowly, her body goes slack, and she sighs his name into the quiet room.

 

He does not say anything, does not ask about the scar, and Carol is grateful for that. There would come a time and a place to finally, truly, verbally open up about everything she endured. Not tonight, not when everything is too complete and feels too good. The last thing on her mind is for pointless explanations to taint this, for old wounds to tear open.

 

This is near perfect, and she wishes she could freeze this moment and hold on to it until the day she dies. But there is a slight nagging at the back of her mind, growing and swelling, making her restless with each passing second. Eventually, it becomes too much to endure, and her hands cup the sides of Daryl’s face, pulling him away from her breasts.

 

He looks a little insecure for a moment, blue eyes nearly hidden by his hair, but then she closes the gap between them and presses a short, deft kiss to his lips. As they part, she offers him an encouraging smile, fully aware that the trembling of her fingers gives away how nervous she really is.

 

Climbing off his lap, Carol struggles to maintain her balance on her legs, knees weak and wavering under her weight. She takes a step back, putting a few feet between herself and Daryl. He visibly tenses, confusion ghosting over his face, fingers balling into nervous fists in his lap. Briefly, her eyes flicker down to the bulge in his pants, but she tears them away in a heartbeat, willing to offer him the same courtesy as he did.

 

Daryl's mouth opens to speak, but before even a single word can pass his lips, Carol's fingers pop open the button on her jeans and he freezes. This time, his gaze is glued to her hands, watching and swallowing as she pulls down the zipper. Her heart pounds violently against her ribs, and she almost fears that they’ll break from the constant beating.

 

Kicking off her shoes, she shivers when her bare feet meet the surprisingly cool floor. She stares down at her toes, allowing the humid air to expand her lungs. It is easier to count the speckles of the linoleum than to keep going, to push the denim down her pale legs and let them pool on the floor.

 

_Carol?_ Daryl speaks quietly, and Carol is surprised when she looks up to see his gaze fixed on her face again. Once more, he is giving her space to breathe. In his eyes, she can read everything he is not saying – words sometimes proving to be his greatest challenge. That she doesn't have to do anything she's not ready for. That he'd never expect this to go any further. But she wants this to go further, and _God_ is she ready. Ready to snap from all the yearning that is spinning tightly in the pit of her stomach.

 

_I'm okay_ , she reassures him. Her fingers curl around the waistline of her jeans, pushing the heavy material down her thighs. She needs to bend over slightly to get them past her knees, but her eyes are locked with Daryl's. Despite all his sweetness, he seems uncomfortably tense, the white of his knuckles pushing through.

 

She kicks her pants away then, joining the pile of abandoned clothes by the foot of his bed. In that moment, as she stands nearly naked in Daryl's cramped bedroom, a breeze pushes through the open window, whispering through the curtains and dancing in cooling swirls around her exposed skin. As sumptuous as it feels – she almost longs for the tickle of cool grass beneath her feet – Carol knows she needs to move. For both their sakes.

 

The space between them is quickly breached, and when her now bare thighs bracket Daryl's hips again, everything is different. The wrinkled sheets press into her kneecaps, the course fabric of his pants chafes the insides of her thighs, and nothing is separating the heat between her legs from his straining erection than the thin, damp cotton of her underwear.

 

Hesitantly, his hand comes up to her thigh. His eyes widen a little at the sensation of her bare skin, smooth under his calloused palms. Almost instantly, he seeks out her lips for another kiss, but Carol won't have it. Not right now.

 

She splays her fingers over his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart right beneath her palm. Daryl stills. Then, softly, Carol begins to push him back towards the mattress. She is nowhere near strong enough to push him down against his will, but he gives in soon enough, laying down on his back. One hand remains on her thigh, fingertips digging into soft flesh, while the other finds her hip.

 

Siting astride him like this, Carol feels more exposed than standing at the edge of the bed, and the urge to cross her arms in front of her chest and turn away from him is treacherous. Still, she nearly smiles at how normal it feels at the same time. She feels a little shy, a little self-conscious. But there is no embarrassment making her feel weak, and no longer any fear holding her back. For the first time in years, Carol finally believes she is just a regular girl fooling around with a boy, all sensations part of the package instead of collateral damage from years of terror.

 

Her feet are still danging from the edge of the bed when she leans forward. It makes her feel less grounded, and so she tucks her thighs closer around Daryl's narrow hips, trapping him beneath her. Tenderly, her lips land on his cheek, then his jaw, below his earlobe, down his throat. With each soft caress, the hand on her thigh moves up higher, and the one on her hips grabs tighter.

 

Her own hands are less useless now, gliding up Daryl's strong arms, sifting through his hair, gripping his shirt and bunching it in her fist carefully – everywhere all at once. Mouthing at his collarbone through his shirt, she listens to every small sound he makes, the faint rumble deep in his chest and the panting that sounds more and more like her name.

 

She mewls a quiet sound when his fingers trace the edge of her underwear around her hip. There is so little space between them now that her breasts press into his chest, and the friction of his shirt against her nipples is enough to make her blood pulse faster again. Still, it is not quite enough, and the promise of his bare skin against her – against her breast and stomach, against her pelvis, everywhere – is so strong, throbbing deep inside of her.

 

Careful and slowly, she maneuvers her hands between them again, lightly sucking the skin of his throat between her lips. He moans at that, his hips bucking up in response. It gives her a clue as to where to move her hands, and when her fingers find the edge of his shirt and slip just barely underneath, she raises her head.

 

Looking down at Daryl – hooded blue eyes, strands of hair clinging to his temples, parted lips – she scans his features for permission. Silently, he gives her that, nodding just barely. Carol surrenders to a content smile, brushing his lips with hers in a chaste kiss. It is slow, tender, nowhere near as filled with fire as her body aches for. But it distracts him a little, enough for her to push her hands completely under his shirt.

 

Earlier, against the bathroom door, the touch of her hands had nearly knocked the wind out of him. Now, it is no different. The second her palms smooth over the softness of his belly and the fine dusting of hair, Daryl grabs her more tightly, pulling her flush against him. His tongue traces the seam of her lips, and the kiss soon turns languid, warm, deep.

 

Her hands explore the planes of skin still hidden from her view. It borders on magical to take note of each response. The way muscles twitch under taut skin, how his breathing stutters against her lips or the sheer despair in his hold on her.

 

Always keeping in mind that this is a fragile house of glass they are erecting for themselves, Carol edges her hands south. With the awkward angle and her own weight obstructing her, her wrists are already tired. The faint ache barely bothers her, though. When she finally reaches her hand fully into Daryl's pants, he makes no move to push her away. Instead, he tears his lips from hers, groaning her name into the slowly darkening room.

 

Outside, the sun is setting at a lazy rate. It still bathes the room with orange rays, sunbeams dancing on white sheets and in pools of now dark blue eyes.

 

Her fingers curl around him, mesmerized. They lock eyes for one sweet moment, both overwhelmed. It is comforting to see her own struggles reflected in his eyes, but before too long, Carol buries her face in the crook of Daryl's neck.

 

She strokes him slowly with one hand, a steady and unhurried rhythm because they now have all the time in the world. An hourglass filled to the brim with stardust. Her free hand runs up over his stomach, over the soft hairs that cover his chest until she reaches his heart. It thunders under her hand, his skin scorching and slightly damp with sweat.

 

His shirt has ridden up just over his navel, and to feel his skin against her own stomach nearly causes Carol to lose her rhythm. Accidentally, she squeezes him a little too much.

 

An apology nearly stumbles from her mouth when he hisses, but then he bucks his hips up, voice like gravel when he speaks. _Do that again._

 

The pleading edge of his words has her abdomen tighten painfully. She does as he asked, grinding her core against his hips at the same time to relief at least some of the tension that has her strung like a bow. They move like this for a minute, Daryl’s hand eventually smoothing up her ribcage to cup her breast, gently kneading the soft flesh. The other slips between them, and Carol chokes out his name when he runs his fingers against the damp cotton of her underwear, arching into his touch.

 

_Shit_ , Daryl suddenly utters, stiffing slightly beneath her. Her hand on him stills, but she keeps her fingers firmly wrapped around him.

 

_What is it?_ she asks into the crook of his neck, tilting her pelvis forward so that his fingers are rubbing against her. He picks up on her hint, sliding one underneath the fabric. Their groans mingle when he touches bare, slick skin. The hand on her breast slips around to rest against her lower back, holding her tightly against him as his finger moves through her heat, remembering what she showed him that night.

 

Her lips find the tender skin below his ear, sucking just slightly. It's enough to have his back arch off the mattress. _Please tell me you have condoms_ , he groans into the mess of her hair, all frizzy and damp.

 

_No_ , she breathes, sitting up just enough to look at Daryl. His face falls almost instantly at the short word, and the shuddering exhale speaks of defeat. _But I'm on the pill_ , Carol adds, circling her hips against his fingers and resuming the steady strokes of her hand. Something flickers across Daryl’s face then, reminding her of doubt. There is a heavy question lingering in his eyes, sobering his gaze. Carol knows the question and the fear from which it was born, but right now is not the time for answers. She pulls her hand away from his heart and out of the mess of his shirt, cradling his cheek in her palm instead. Silently, Daryl accepts.

 

_Ya can take it off_ , he rasps, pointing his chin down towards his chest. _If ya wanna._

 

_Are you sure?_ There is no doubt in the world that she wants to, but the last thing she wants is for Daryl to feel like he needs to do this. Whatever reason he had to insist on keeping his shirt on last time, it must be valid, and a dark shadow flickers through her mind.

 

_Mhm_ , he hums, slipping a finger inside her without warning. She cries out softly, her eyes squeezing shut. _Feels nice_ , he murmurs, leaning up to find her lips. The kiss is a bit sloppy and the angle surely must make his neck ache, but they hold it for a few sweet seconds.

 

Smiling against his lips, Carol finds the first button of his shirt, teasing it with her fingertips. _It does_ , she whispers, lost to all the sensations that are raining down on her. It is a warm summer rain, hazy and almost sickly sweet. The task of pushing the small buttons through the holes almost defeats her, and her fingers tremble nervously, grazing over each small inch she exposes.

 

_Don't stop that_ , she whimpers as Daryl slides a second finger into her, her own hand stuttering around his length. It's a fight she is not sure she can maintain for much longer, not when the muscles in her belly are fluttering, and she can feel herself nearing the edge. She has undone half the buttons by the time Daryl's thumb does a _thing_ , and his name escapes her lips as a coarse yelp.

 

A tidal wave crashes over her entirely without warning, and she nearly crushes him when she falls over, tumbling onto his chest, her hand slipping from his pants and clutching at the sheets, his hair, his shoulder, anything.

 

_Fuck_ , Daryl mouths against the side of her head, his hand trailing up and down her spine as her lungs expand with each breath she sucks in. Tiny shock waves are still coursing through her body, fizzling fireworks that leave every nerve ending raw. She's glad Daryl has stilled his fingers, slowly pulling them away from her and gripping her thigh instead. It's a wet grip, but she pays it no mind. Instead, she turns her head to kiss him. Her blood rushes loudly in her ears, her pulse drumming there with fervor.

 

As she slowly regains control of her limp body, her fingers undo the remaining buttons, palms slipping under the parted fabric.

 

Daryl releases a long exhale, clearly trying to ease some tension. His fingertips dig into the soft inside of her thigh, holding on to her when she sits up. Shifting her weight to avoid sitting right on his erection, her core still too sensitive, she slowly pushes the shirt to the sides.

 

The skin she reveals is pale compared to his arms and face, always hidden away. She pushes as far as she can, until the fabric bunches around Daryl's shoulders. His eyes are closed, throat bobbing as he swallows.

 

Carol allows her eyes to roam over his chest and flat stomach, both rising and falling a little too quickly with nervous and shuddering breaths. A few scars are scattered over the pale skin. Some, she assumes are simply proofs of life, remnants of accidents and a hint of clumsiness on occasion. Her finger ghosts over a circle of puckered skin at his side, the raised flesh smooth under her touch.

 

But there are a few others, shaped differently and in odd places. She understands them, can read their history in the white and red tones of marred skin. They carry the same weight as her own.

 

Pushing at the bunched up fabric around his shoulders, Carol draws his attention away from the scars. His eyes open and he understands her struggle. Careful not to mess with her balance, Daryl sits up enough for Carol to push the shirt over his shoulders. She follows the fabric down his arms until Daryl casts it aside.

 

She seeks out his hands, linking their fingers until they form a tightly bound knot. Daryl closes the distance between them, kissing her chin first, then the freckled and flushed skin of her cheeks before finally reaching her lips. The sigh that bubbles up from her throat is muffled, more of a hum that disappears in Daryl's mouth.

 

They part when Daryl untangles their hands, softly pushing at Carol's shoulders. It is a gentle nudge, and he looks wretchedly terrified when he points to the side.

 

Pressing one more reassuring kiss to his mouth for good measure, Carol carefully climbs out of his lap. The mattress wavers a little when she sits down in the middle of the bed, her shaky legs tucked beneath her. Goosebumps cover her body, not from the slightly cooling breeze but from the sheer intensity of all this. She waits silently for Daryl to move, eying his profile. His eyes are fixed on the wall in front of him, and only now does she glance over there.

 

Next to the open door, he has pinned a few pictures to a cork board. Rick, Shane, Daryl, T and Glenn all hunched together and grinning like idiots the day they went go-carting. The postcard of Glenn and Maggie in front of the Eiffel Tower which they sent to _everybody_. Lori and Rick after their engagement party, Shane photo-bombing them with a thumbs up. Andrea, Jacqui and Carol on the porch swing two summers ago with sunglasses and big hats, glasses of iced tea in their hands. Merle and Daryl – younger and softer – proudly grinning over a dead deer. A woman with blood red fingernails and watery blue eyes. T and Daryl next to the church van he fixed. A picture of her own face, freckled and flushed and smiling as her hair blows in the wind, taken by Daryl with a disposable camera during their trip to the beach two years ago.

 

Her heart swells in her chest, and she bites away the sting of tears.

 

When Daryl finally moves, she keeps her eyes on his face. He pushes his sweatpants off without much grace, and they land in a messy bunch at the foot of the bed. Then, slowly, he kneels in front of her, tanned arms and pale chest and narrow hips and skinny legs. His finger clench into fists by his side, bumping into his thigh over and over again.

 

_Daryl-_ she begins, but he only lifts one hand to silence her, slowly shaking his head. All that is left to do for her is wait, and she curls her fingers into the sheets to ground herself.

 

_I gotta..._ , Daryl mumbles to himself more than directing it at her. For a heartbeat, she wants to tell him no. But then she begins to understand the meaning behind his words, why he is not looking at her at all, why all his focus seems to be aimed at himself. He _does_ have to do this. The mistake she made lay in who he has to do it for. Not for her, a favor for a favor. But for himself.

 

It feels like a lifetime passes before Daryl moves again. The mattress dips a little when he begins to turn around on his knees, and Carol's brows furrow slightly in confusion. She does not quite understand, is even haunted by the flicker of fear that he is bolting, that this is all too much. But then, with every inch he turns, realization dawns on her. It isn't a sweet revelation, no weight falls off her shoulders. Instead, she has to stifle her gasp, remains dead silent instead.

 

Her eyes begin to water instantly the second she takes in the carnage of his back. The angry red lashes are no surprise, but they still hit her like a train and completely unprepared. With quivering lips, she remembers to breathe. As she squeezes her eyes shut, tears dwell behind the lids, stars sparkling like a universe inside of her. Then, slowly, she opens them, quickly wiping away a tear that has spilled. She smudges the trail it left on her cheek.

 

Outside, it is growing darker and darker, the orange of the sky turning into soothing shade of pink. It illuminates his skin, dying rays of sunlight dancing over the battle field that spans across his back. As he breathes, it almost looks as if the tattoo on his shoulder blade is moving, demons rising and swelling like the tide.

 

As his breath grows more and more shallow, Carol decides that she has indulged in enough time to recover. He must feel like a deer in the headlights, burning under her gaze. She moves slowly and carefully, always mindful not to scare him with any abrupt movements when he has just exposed himself to her, peeled away the layers he usually keeps around him so tightly. Rising on her own knees, she hovers right behind him. His breath stutters a little when he feels her behind him, and he shudders when she presses her lips to the base of his skull. She lingers there, pressing her cheek between his shoulder blades.

 

With drifting fingers, she ghosts over his arms, up and down in soothing motions before eventually curling them around his middle, entwining them in front of his chest. Pressed flush against him, she can feel the ridges of his scars against her belly and breasts. His skin almost glows in the light of the sunset, and she marvels at the play of colors. This is so different from the last time, bathed in darkness with nothing to illuminate them but the cold light of the moon and stars.

 

He turns his head then, just barely, the strands of his hair tickling her face. She wrinkles her nose at the sensation, a smile curling her lips against her better judgment. Daryl probably can not see it, and it has vanished by the time she cranes her head enough to kiss him.

 

One of his hands finds her own where she clasped them over his heart, tenderly smoothing circles into her palm. The other curls behind his shoulder to bury his fingers in her hair. Cradling her head, he holds her against him, the pads of his fingers massaging her skull. Her own breath escapes her as a sigh when his tongue slips into her mouth, and for one golden moment, their skin is smooth and shiny like a newborn, their minds and memories wiped clean - nothing exists in the world except for them, pressed against each other as close as possible, hearts unfolding like wings, vulnerable without fear.

 

Even after they end the kiss, their faces remain close. Warm breath ghosts over heated skin, and blue eyes lock. Daryl begins to shiver against her, his fingers circling her temple before sifting back into the curls of her hair.

 

_Are you okay?_ Carol whispers. The tips of their noses are touching, her breasts push against his back with each breath she takes and her thighs are flush with his. Not even a sheet of paper could fit between them now.

 

Daryl nods weakly, eyes flickering downwards, a hint of shame washing over his face. _Been a while_ , he mutters. Despite his obvious discomfort, the words trigger happy memories for Carol. She remembers hearing them before, muttered with the same fear of rejection and the same tone of uncertainty.

 

_How long's a while?_ She repeats the same question she asked years ago, and at the slightly wicked sound of her voice, Daryl looks up. Seeing the barest hint of a grin tugging at her lips, he eases a little.

 

_Since you_ , he whispers, pressing his lips against hers ferociously before she can respond. She is nearly stunned, her heart too full to really respond to the kiss, and so Daryl pulls away after a while, burying his face in her neck. To think that he, too, kept this secret locked away all these years, all the longing, all the pain and all the beauty that comes along with it - the endless possibilities and doors knocked wide open - nearly crushes her heart. Unknowingly, they carried the same weight and made the same sacrifices.

 

A stray tear slowly creeps down her cheek and over her parted lips, the saltiness of it on her tongue almost welcome. This time, she makes no move to wipe it away. Instead, she unlocks her arms from around Daryl's torso, smiling reassuringly at him when he looks up, worried. She shifts and turns, pulling Daryl's hands with him, the sheets tangling beneath them until finally, their position is reversed. Daryl's hands are now curled around her stomach, his chin pressed into her shoulder, nose nudging her cheek, his chest pressed to her back.

 

His palms press into the softness of her stomach, index finger tickling around her belly button. Her own come to rest on his arms, her head lolling to the side as he brushes his lips against her throat. Flames begin to lick inside her veins again, heating her blood when she feels his still prominent erection against her tailbone. It is obvious that he is trying hard to remain still, but each time Carol accidentally moves but an inch, Daryl's breath becomes ragged, his hips stuttering forward ever so slightly.

 

Three years of waiting, wanting and working up the courage to take this step – to jump into the unknown – are enough time, Carol decides. She untangles Daryl’s arms from around her middle just enough to give herself room to move, always touching him, never parting.

 

The mattress and pillows are soft when she lies down on her side, tugging gently at Daryl's arms. He follows without hesitation, curling himself around her, body pressed flush against her back. With her head resting on the pillow, Carol catches a glimpse of the sky outside, a marvelous blend of darkening blue and deep pink, with only the barest hint of orange to remind them of the fire of the sun. The trees move fluidly in the wind, the curtains dancing to the same melody.

 

_Doesn't seem real_ , she hears herself saying. Daryl nods behind her, his hand running up and down her side with just enough pressure not to tickle her. His lips find her shoulder, kissing the warm skin there.

 

Reaching down, Carol curls her fingers around the cotton of her underwear, pushing it down her hips as far as she can. Her shoulder sockets ache from the awkward angle, and she huffs in frustration, wiggling her legs to aid herself. Daryl's hand replaces hers then, first sliding up and down her bare thigh, then bringing her underwear down with it. Once it is tangled around her knees, Carol manages to push it down further on her own. It disappears somewhere in the tangle of sheets, forgotten almost instantly.

 

Considering how close they are, she knows that Daryl can not see a thing, and so she feels less exposed than she expected. Instead, she marvels at the hitch in Daryl’s breathing when she presses herself against him. His hand curls into her hip, almost too roughly, pressing into soft flesh and the jut of her hipbone. With a grunt that she can feel rumbling against her spine, he pulls her closer, thrusts against her.

 

Anticipation rolls over her in ruthless ways, and she lifts her leg enough to run her foot up the length of Daryl's chin. _Please_ , she breathes, reaching behind herself. Quivering fingers find the band of Daryl’s briefs, and she tugs at them impatiently. Pulling and wriggling, they both eventually push them past his hips. It's a difficult task when neither of them is quite willing to stop the push and pull of their hips, the friction too irresistible.

 

But then his underwear joins hers by their feet, and Carol nearly mewls when Daryl tucks his hand behind her knee to lift her leg a bit more. She can feel him right against her now, a smooth and slick glide that teases more than it satisfies. Her fingers curl helplessly into the sheets, the bone of her knuckles nearly breaking through her pale skin.

 

_Ya really wanna?_ Daryl rasps, so much strain to his words that Carol is surprised he managed to speak at all. Like her, he still seems to be suspicious that this could be real. But how he can possible doubt that she wants this is beyond her.

 

_Yes_ , she moans when he brushes against her just right. _I- Daryl, come on. Please, just- oh._ He pushes inside her then, just barely. They both freeze, and he holds her leg in a vice grip, his breath damp against her shoulder. Carol cranes her neck, eyes squeezes shut, fighting the urge to move. _Daryl..._

 

_I ain't gonna-_ he begins, pushing his hips forward a little. _Carol, I'm- Fuck._ He nearly yelps the curse when she counters the slow push of his hips with her own, and he slides into her nearly all the way. Almost as if he'd been burnt, Daryl drops her knee. She struggles to hold it up, locking her ankle around his to at least give him some space too move.

 

The friction and fullness is already too much, and she bites away the small sting of pain. Daryl moves back then, sliding out almost entirely, shuddering against her. Every inch of him is pressed to her own sweat-slicked skin, from his chins to the fronts of his thighs, his stomach and chest, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

 

His free hand splays over her belly when he thrusts forward slow and deep.

 

Carol struggles to open her eyes again, the lids heavy and her mind too content with allowing all the sensations to wash over her blindly. But eventually, she opens them, stars obscuring her vision for a few tender moments. Her tongue is dry, lips parted to allow every sigh and whisper to break free from her throat. The hand on her belly begins to move then, and when Daryl cups her breast, she arches her back, moaning unashamed and almost too loudly into the quickly darkening room. Fingers brush over her nipples, every muscle in her body quivering.

 

While one hand remains to clutch at the sheets, she sneak the other behind herself, her palm landing on Daryl's scruffy cheek and eventually finding his hair. She holds on to him as he moves inside of her, a slow and steady rhythm. Unhurried, nothing hinting at all the time they have wasted already. But perhaps, Carol wonders as Daryl nips at her neck and thrusts a little deeper, drawing a moan from her, all this time has not been wasted at all.

 

Could this have happened one, two, three years ago? Could they have shed their masks and bared their souls? No. Not like this. A tangled mess of limbs in the sheets, Carol is now glad for all these years, and she locks them away as fond memories in her heart.

 

Drawing her blunt fingernails over his scalp rouses a grumble deep in Daryl's chest. His next thrust is quicker than the ones before, deeper and more unexpected. Taken by surprise, Carol draws in a sharp inhale, and Daryl freezes, buried to the hilt.

 

_Did I hurt ya?_ he asks with so much worry seeping from his hoarse voice that Carol can feel herself fluttering around him. Shaking her head softly, she pushes back against him.

 

The hand that clutches the sheets raises up to rest over his, her heart beating beneath their entwined fingers. _No_ , she reassures him, lifting his hand to kiss his palm. _You didn't._

 

Daryl leans up on his elbow enough to press his lips to her cheek, pulling out of her carefully and pushing back in, more caution to his movements now than before. It's almost frustratingly slow, and Carol squirms again him, circling her hips. _I'm okay. I'm fine, please. Da-_ He pulls her flush against him at her plea, holds her there, her muscles fluttering around him.

 

His curse is lost in the mess of her hair, and now that he apparently understands that while she might be cracked just like him, she is not made of porcelain and will not break. For a while, the room is filled with their ragged breathing, hoarse moans and the broken sounds of curses and chanted names. When his hand trails between her breast, over her stomach and down to where they are joined, Carol quickly curls her fingers around his wrist.

 

The rhythm he set stutters a little, and she only shakes her head. She wants to focus on this, on the way he moves inside of her, on how complete she feels. Everything else fades. This is not about giving or taking or enduring. When everything else falls away, it is only them that remains.

 

Perhaps Daryl does not quite understand in this moment why she is tugging his hand away from where she is slick and still sensitive and where his touch would probably send her crashing over the edge in a heartbeat. But he does not fight her, instead locks their fingers against the sheets and presses a kiss to her pulse point.

 

She moves her hand away from his hair with a sense of loss blooming in her chest, runs it down his arm and side until she rests her palm against his thigh. The muscles there contract with each thrust and release when he pulls back. Her fingers press into his flesh, using the leverage to pull herself up against him.

 

It is then that Daryl’s rhythm begins to falter, his hips stuttering a little with each thrust. They grow deeper, a little more forceful, less lazy and the grip of his fingers around her own tightens. Carol hooks her leg a little tighter around his, his knee slipping between hers, and somehow the slightly changed angle makes her insides flutter and contract. The sensation draws a moan from Daryl's lips, quiet and almost unintelligible.

 

_Carol_ , he groans. A plead. A warning. A prayer. His thrusts grow shallow, but the force of them nearly sends her tumbling onto her stomach. With her eyes closed again, she drowns in it all. Sweat is pearling over her brows and at the small of her back where Daryl's stomach is pressing into her spine, and when she traces her tongue over her bottom lip, it's dry and chapped and still swollen from his kisses.

 

He is positively _clinging_ to her now, his other hand – until now abandoned somewhere between their bodies – grasping her shoulder and holding on to it as he drives into her. Carol hums when he slightly changes the angle, hitting a spot inside her that awakens an unexpected desire for release. Briefly, she regrets tugging his hand away from her now aching heat, but then his breathing turns wretched against her throat, and she knows he can no longer hold on.

 

When he makes a sudden and abrupt move to pull out, she panics, her hand gripping his thigh and holding him inside of her. _No, please. I want- Just... Stay._ Her tongue feels heavy and to form the words is a real struggle. But before she can even attempt to row them together into a proper sentence, Daryl grunts against her, thrusting once more as he clutches her to him.

 

Warmth spreads through her, and when he buries his face in the crook of her neck and mutter _I love ya_ into her overheated and sensitive skin, the world suddenly falls into place. She draws her thumb over his palm as his hips continue to buck weakly into her, and the last few years flash in front of her closed eyes. It all makes sense now, this unbearable lightness in her heart and the aching gap she always felt in Daryl’s presence and absence alike.

 

Her muscles flutter around him even when he finally stops moving, still buried inside her. Neither of them is very eager to move, not when they are wrapped around each other like this. His lips place a sweet kiss on the back of her neck, and she sighs at the feathering sensation, soft as the stroke of a butterfly's wing.

 

_I love you, too_ , she whispers. The words pass her lips easily, full of truth. Before tonight, she was never quite brave or certain enough to admit them to herself, but the time for fear has come and gone.

 

Daryl's hand slips from hers to touch her cheek, smoothing over her cheekbone. _Ain't gotta say it back_ , he mumbles, the vibrations of his voice tickling her throat. Combined with the pounding of his heart against her spine, she feels like they are one person, a whole, rather than two broken pieces.

 

There is a hint of doubt and the bittersweet taste of fear in his words, and she begins to turn in his arms. He slips from her, both of them sighing. Their arms and legs get tangled, strands of red and brown hair mingling on the pillow until she finally lays on her side, facing him.

 

The blue of his eyes is still a few shades darker than she is used to, his skin flushed a deep and visceral red, lips swollen and parted as his damp breath escapes him in rugged little puffs. Strands of hair are sticking to his forehead and temple. As she moves to rest her head on his invitingly outstretched arm, he reaches out for her with his free hand, and it quickly finds its place in the dip of her waist.

 

_But I do_ , Carol reassures him, struggling to convey the sincerity behind her words when her voice is hoarse and she is utterly out of breath. Her skin begins to itch as her sweat slowly dries, and she is all too aware of the emptiness inside her. Daryl is still pressed against her lower belly, softening now. Her thighs feel sticky, and she hooks her leg over Daryl's again to keep them from being pressed together. _I just thought you were..._ She ends on a sigh, looking down at Daryl’s chest. The weight of everything comes crashing down now with more brutality and so much quicker than she expected. _We both weren't ready_ , she finally states, edging forward a little until their noses are just barely touching.

 

Daryl nods against her, brushing his lips over hers for a brief kiss. _Guess we're both a little fucked up._ A nervous sort of laughter bubbles up from her throat, and she can feel herself blushing, certain that none of her freckles are still visible at this point. It hardly matters, not when Daryl is actually looking at her, not shying away or cowering under her glance. She remembers this face, relaxed and sated. Now that the room is only illuminated by the light of the moon and the stars, she feels the familiarity of the moment wash over her like gentle waves lapping at her bare feet.

 

_So, are you going to think about it?_ she asks, running her index finger over the line of his jaw. _Coming to Virginia?_ She has spent the past three weeks imagining what it would be like to have Daryl close to her again, to get to see him more than once every few months. She had not been brave or daring enough to even consider this, though. Being with him, to have him _this_ close. Now, her mind is spinning, wishing and praying that he'll say yes. 

 

_Ain't gotta think about it_ , he declares, a rare smile tugging at his lips. _I'm outta here by the end of the month if ya really want me ta._ His hand strokes up and down her side. The words light up her heart, and a nervous flutter of excitement renders Carol restless in his arms. Knowing what a big step this is, she puts much effort into remaining calm, but something twinkles in Daryl's eyes when they flicker down towards her bright smile.

 

_I want to give this a shot_ , she says quietly, curling her hand around his neck. _Us. I don't know how much I can..._ She trails off, old wounds leaking fluid as she is caught between wanting to give Daryl everything and nurturing the desire to keep as much of herself to herself as she can.

 

Daryl feels her tense in his arms, his hand moving up to cup her cheek. _Hey, we get to start over_ , he promises, eyes full of wonder. She can almost see a future in the pools of blue, wide as the ocean. _Both of us. With each other if ya want._

 

She seeks out his lips without hesitation, and the sheer joy she feels at the idea that she can just do this now whenever she wants has her skin feeling raw and her stomach fluttering. _I do_ , she mutters into the kiss, and for a few minutes they get lost in each other. The kiss is slow, exploring without any urgency, hands smoothing over bare skin until their hands entwine between them.

 

_So_ , Carol begins, a smirk playing on her face. _Are we going to order in or do we need to share that horrid lasagne?_

 

Daryl snorts in response, and the laughter that breaks from Carol's chest has her feeling more free than she has in someone's presence for the longest time. His lips find her neck, mouthing some unintelligible reply into her skin. When he starts to kiss and gently suck the tender skin into his mouth, all thoughts of food are quickly forgotten.

 

Carol giggles, rolling onto her back and pulling Daryl with her. Even with all his weight pressing down on her, she can breathe freely. It is a realization that blossoms in her chest like the most delicate flower, and she embraces it in the fragile safety of her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, this was meant to be a oneshot. Then it grew and grew and exploded, but I am very happy with the result and quite proud of this little fic. 
> 
> So, I hope you all enjoyed it, too, and I hope the wait was not too long, or at least worth the wait :)


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